


A Darkness That We Knew

by catholicschoolgirl



Series: Tears Dry On Their Own Universe [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Asphyxiation, BDSM, Bloodplay, Breathplay, Consensual Violence, Daddy Kink, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, Felching, Feminization, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Infidelity, Just Sex, Kink Exploration, Lots of it, M/M, Moral Bankruptcy, Recreational Drug Use, Shitty people doing shitty things, Watersports, a sex act I don't even know the word for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:53:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 103,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catholicschoolgirl/pseuds/catholicschoolgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Zayn get engaged. Everyone around them is (understandably) concerned.</p><p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/982930/chapters/1936276">So We Are History</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Happy fucking Valentine's Day.
> 
> I know approximately nobody gives a fuck about this universe, but I'm in love with it so whatever! This is even more self-indulgent than the first one and I'm completely unapologetic about what my mind has come up with. If you haven't read So We Are History, this story won't make any sense, so [go do that](http://archiveofourown.org/works/982930/chapters/1936276).
> 
> Thanks to Frida for being the best beta in the world and always mocking me when I come and ask her for help. Another huge thanks to Emily for being a great sounding board and pushing me on and making me rationalize some of my ideas and plot points. Thank you, Crystal, for answering my random early morning inquiries ("So what are your thoughts on watersports?") and the rest of my loose writers group on both whatsapp and twitter. And of course, thanks to all of you for reading!
> 
> As usual, heed the tags - this fic is basically me trying my hand at kinks that my friends have thrown at me. (Also if you're like hell yes to most of them except one, I can tell you that this chapter has bloodplay, the next chapter has watersports, the third chapter has daddy kink, and the subdrop will be coming sometime after that)
> 
> Okay, enough talking.

It certainly wouldn't make for the most romantic proposal story. Harry was sitting at their dining room table, the surface of which was almost entirely covered with books and print-outs of articles, squinting as he looked over a 19th century text for his Italian thesis when Zayn flopped down next to him and threw a small Cartier ring box into his lap with a murmured, “Here.”

Harry cracked the box open, squashing down his excitement at seeing the thin platinum band. “No, no. Try again,” Harry said instead, closing the box and pushing it across the table toward Zayn, who whined pitifully.

“Ah, c'mon babe,” Zayn moaned. “Don't make me get down on one knee. You already know what it is, what it's for.”

“Would it kill you to be romantic for once?” Harry asked. “You don't take me out anywhere unless we're with one of our friends, you throw a box at me as a proposal – which does not count as asking someone to marry you, by the way – why do I want to spend the rest of my life with you?”

Zayn shrugged. “Beats me.”

Harry sniffed and rolled his eyes. “Lovely.”

It was the type of banter that Harry had somehow become intimately acquainted with over the last four or so years, but Harry was well aware that his relationship with Zayn was far from typical. Hell, they had met when Zayn was a Teacher's Assistant for a Renaissance history course that Harry had enrolled in only three hours before the class started – desperately searching for at least _one_ more guaranteed class, considering that the only other course he wasn't on the wait list for was his Italian Conversation class. Harry had breezed into the lecture and immediately found himself drawn to the man in the front row with the most beautiful eyes Harry had ever seen, a hazel that suddenly threw Harry back to that year studying abroad in Italy, drinking mocha and wandering the streets of Turin in the summer by himself, recklessly American, young and stupid, boundlessly enthusiastic. Zayn just had something undeniable and wild about him, sharp, predatory teeth when he smiled at Harry, but soft, careful hands when they accidentally brushed against Harry's skin as Zayn peeled off his leather jacket and began taking notes. Harry knew, even then, that he would do anything for Zayn's attention, would work harder in this course than he ever had in his academic career, would make himself an unforgettable student. The thought of making himself an unforgettable lover followed naturally.

Harry never even considered the idea that Zayn _wouldn't_ be interested in him. The thought honestly never crossed his mind. As if anyone could ever turn down Harry and his charm, as if anyone ever _had_.

Hell, it didn't even matter that Zayn was his teacher at the time – it was an inconvenient detail, nothing more. And when Harry found out that Zayn had a girlfriend, that quickly became irrelevant, as well. Harry was relentless, a lioness stalking a lame deer – there was only one possible conclusion available here. Harry just had to wait, be patient – a virtue he never put much stock in until he met Zayn. And then Zayn was his. Only his.

That had been – well. Two years ago, now. Harry had only been a sophomore when he and Zayn became official. Now he was in the first semester of his final year at Cal, sharing an apartment in Berkeley with his now Lecturer boyfriend, the same two-bedroom space he had once split with his good friend, Liam Payne, but which was now undoubtedly _ZaynandHarry_ 's – bookcases everywhere, all of which were overflowing, framed photographs from their recent trip to Milan all over the living room wall, Marvel posters interspersed with shitty, grainy images Harry took from concerts across the Bay Area, secondhand furniture picked up from flea markets interspersed with stupidly overpriced accent pieces like the ridiculous Versace pillows Zayn had insisted on buying for their couch. Their entire space was ridiculous, over the top, _too much_ actually, but so were they.

Which was why Zayn sighed, grabbing the ring box, and stood from his seat, walking around the perimeter of the dining room table and getting down on one knee in front of Harry. “Babe – Harry. I – uh. I'm not good with words when it matters, all right? You know that. And like – you're the most manipulative, frustrating, spoiled person I've ever met – ”

“Charming,” Harry interjected. “Insult the person you want to marry. Ace proposal.”

“ – But you're also the love of my fucking life, all right? I've never felt so in sync with someone else, and like – what was it that you said to me, once? Something about not wanting me in spite of my flaws, but wanting me because of them? I feel the same way. You may be the most manipulative, frustrating, and spoiled person that I've ever met, but you're _mine_ , and I guess I must be all of those things too, because I wanna make this thing forever, and you better fucking say yes. So. Marry me, Harry?”

Harry shrugged but he could no longer hold back the shit eating grin that had been threatening to spill across his face from the start. “Yeah, all right.”

“Yeah?” Zayn asked, standing up and leaning over to grab Harry's face between his hands. “You'll marry me?”

“Duh,” Harry murmured, leaning in and kissing Zayn, long and filthy. “You fucking loser. Give me my ring.”

“No,” Zayn said, pulling away and holding the box away from Harry. “You gotta earn these diamonds, babe.”

Harry stood, pushing Zayn into the kitchen and backing Zayn up against one of the cabinets as he sank to his own knees. “Like this, Zayn?”

Zayn hummed affirmatively, carding his hands through Harry's curls as Harry unbuttoned Zayn's slacks and pushed them down to pool around his knees. “This might be a good start.”

 

As Harry fell asleep that night, his own jaw sore, Zayn solid and warm at his side and his beautiful _engagement ring_ winking at him from their bedside table, Harry didn't even think about calling his mom, or posting a status on Facebook announcing the good news. Strangely enough, the first person he wanted to tell was Zayn's best friend, Louis Tomlinson.

Luckily Zayn and Harry already had plans to go out with Louis, his fiancee, Eleanor, and their young daughter, Riley, the next night at a new pizza restaurant in downtown Berkeley. Harry wasn't sure at what point his life had become so comfortably dull, but it had – arranging meet-ups with all of the other decidedly coupled up people in his life, going out on double dates to the bowling alley with his best friend Liam Payne and his newest girlfriend, an engineering student named Sophia Smith, or heading out after his last lecture for drinks and a few games of darts with Niall and his own beautiful, leggy sorority girl, Barbara Palvin. Things never felt quite as TV Land sitcom domestic as they did when Harry and Zayn went out with Louis and Eleanor, though.

There was just something about Lou and El that screamed sickeningly happy couple – the way Louis still made a point of opening every door for El, the way she glowed whenever she said his name, their shared fondness whenever they talked about their gorgeous young daughter. Their relationship was – it was the stuff of fairytales, the kind of easy, simple love that Harry used to dream about when he was young, watching _Pride and Prejudice_ and _Shakespeare in Love_ with Gemma, wondering if people were really capable of experiencing such exhilarating romance. These were the simple wonders that followed Harry around his whole life, taking such ruminations with him to Turin where he gave into the simple, barely legal pleasures of fucking his Italian teacher, and then later falling into bed with a married woman with soft, buttery thighs when his quest for adventure and inconvenient love propelled him across time and space. Harry had still been searching for that fairytale love when his eyes locked with Zayn's hazel ones, and although he had found everything he had ever wanted and more with Zayn, Harry couldn't help but be continually awestruck by Louis and Eleanor. What Harry had with Zayn – it wasn't the type of love that he used to daydream about as a child, but something so much _more_. That being said, Harry couldn't stop himself from wondering, sometimes, what it would be like. To have something so _easy_ and simple. To have someone at your side who made you want to be a better person. To have people look at you and not judge, to not see the detritus of past relationships scattered at your feet. Harry couldn't help himself. Wanting what he couldn't have – well, he just had a bad track record with keeping his feet off the neighbor's grass, was all.

It was a Saturday night, and Zayn and Harry met up with Louis and El outside of the restaurant, Louis carrying an already sleepy Riley in his arms. They made their way inside and were escorted to a booth toward the back, Zayn and Harry claiming one side and Louis and Eleanor taking the other, Riley shaking her head petulantly when El attempted to put her in a high chair. Harry put in an order for a simple Margherita pizza for Zayn and El and a strangely appealing meat monstrosity for Louis and himself and Riley served as a distraction until she finally gave in to her exhaustion and passed out in Eleanor's lap. It was only once the food came out that Eleanor caught sight of Harry's left hand, reaching across the table and grabbing it in between her own and squealing.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” she chanted, turning Harry's hand over in her own daintier palms. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Oh wow,” Zayn mumbled, looking away, cheeks pink with embarrassment, although underneath it all, Harry could tell that Zayn was actually really quite pleased. Under the table, Harry grabbed Zayn's hand with his free right one before turning back to look at Eleanor.

“What do you _think_ it is?”

“A Cartier platinum ring,” Eleanor answered promptly with a cheeky grin. “Not the type of jewelry to be gifted lightly, as I know their Love rings easily run upwards of $1500. There's no fixed standard for proposing in same-sex relationships, but I think using a Cartier ring would be a perfectly acceptable way to do it. Especially one with such gorgeous diamonds set into the band.” Eleanor turned and exchanged a fond glance with Louis. “I know my jewelry.”

“We all know you do, love. We can see your own giant rock from here,” Louis replied. “You can give the man his hand back now before his _fiance_ gets too jealous.”

“So is it an engagement ring, then?” Eleanor asked conspiratorially, raising an eyebrow at Harry. “Don't want to get too ahead of myself if it's just a really nice birthday gift or something, but I haven't known Zayn to be the type to give jewelry away as everyday gifts.”

“Nope, it's an engagement ring,” Harry said, pulling his hand back toward himself and unconsciously twirling the band around on his ring finger. He still couldn't believe this was real, that Zayn had finally fucking proposed, especially when Harry had been bugging him about it for something like two years. Eleanor let out one long, proper shriek and, ignoring the stares of some of their fellow customers, gently placed her daughter into Louis' lap before scrambling across the other side of the booth to give both Harry and Zayn long, crushing hugs.

“I'm so happy for you two!” she mumbled, voice going thick with tears.

“Oh no, El,” Zayn said, pulling away from his own hug to help Eleanor brush away her tears.

“I'm just – it's all happy tears,” Eleanor laughed, taking a deep breath and smiling at Zayn. “I just – I know you two have been through _so much_ and I used to worry because I just – I couldn't always understand. I like to think I have a better idea now and just – look at you two! You'll probably get married before Lou and I!”

“That's because you two are never going to get married,” Zayn joked. “Engaged for how long now?”

“Oh, shut it,” Eleanor said, pulling Zayn back in for another hug. “We need drinks. Lots of drinks to toast to the happy, engaged couple!”

“I'll go and get us something,” Louis volunteered. “Harry, come with me a minute?”

Harry shrugged and stood, waiting for Louis to transfer Riley back into Eleanor's lap before they made their way over to the bar. Louis put in their order before leaning back against a stool, his face contemplative as he looked over at Harry.

“What?” Harry asked, feeling suddenly uncomfortable.

Louis took a long moment to respond, which only made Harry feel more unsettled and on edge. While Louis was certainly not as stupidly impulsive as people made him out to be, he also didn't usually take so much time measuring his words before he spoke. “Don't be offended by what I'm going to say, all right?”

As if that made Harry feel any calmer. “Okay.”

“I never actually expected for him to propose to you,” Louis said. “I'm kind of – like not taken aback. But definitely surprised he went through with it, on some level.”

Harry crossed his arms over his chest, could feel himself becoming hostile. “You didn't think we would stay together,” he stated, raising an eyebrow. “You thought he would've left me by now.”

“I didn't say that, Harry, don't be stupid,” Louis admonished. “I thought you guys would always just be who the two of you are – Zayn and Harry. My two idiot friends. I just. This is a big step.”

“I know that.”

“ _Do you_ , though?” Louis asked honestly. “Zayn's been engaged before and I used to wonder if he ever bothered to learn what the concept actually meant in practice.”

Harry paused, blinked once, long and slowly, before saying, “ _I_ definitely know what it means, though, Louis.”

Louis frowned. “I'm not insinuating that you don't. Neither of you are stupid, so you can put your hackles down – I'm not insulting your intelligence or your fucking intentions. I'm just – God. Have you _really_ thought about it, what this is all going to mean? I mean, the first few weeks after the engagement are fun, but then reality sets in. You get all of the questions about the wedding – the venue, the date, who you're inviting. And all you want to do is just sit around with your partner all day eating pancakes. And then the big day comes, and you go on your honeymoon and come back from this amazing vacation to the banality of marriage. Have you even started to think about all the big, scary things that come with being legally bound to each other – getting a real house, filing taxes together, 401k's, all that shit?”

“I've dreamed about marrying him for like, four years, Lou,” Harry said, nodding when the bartender walked over and placed their drinks down in a neat row in front of them. Louis forked over his credit card before turning back to Harry. “I just – I want what you and El have, but with Zayn. I want to build a life with him, Lou.”

“You also want a shit ton of debt, a house that's falling apart, in-laws who look at you like you're the common thief that stole the princess away, and a toddler with anger issues?” Louis asked wryly.

“No, God, stop being so difficult. You know that what you and El have is the stuff of fucking romance novels. I just – I want that.”

“Note how we are also _not married_ ,” Louis pointed out. “I know a lot of people think that we don't have our shit together and that's why we've been putting it all off, but remaining engaged for as long as we have was definitely a conscious choice on our part. And so I ask you again – have you two really realized how huge of a step this is? Have you thought about how your mom is going to react – you engaged at 21, not even done with school, and to _Zayn_? Zayn's told me that your mom has been nice but always treated your guys' relationship as a rebellious thing that you're going to grow out of. How will a marriage impact you having a job after you finish here at Cal, your young twenty-something friends wanting to go out after work but having to turn them down because you have a husband at home? How this might impact him – him being _that guy_ who married his fucking student? You two definitely work for each other, but like – there's so much I know you two haven't really muddled your way through. _So much_. Marriage won't just make those problems – those quirks about your relationship – disappear.”

“I haven't said that, Louis.”

“You don't have to,” Louis replied, taking his credit card back from the bartender and scooping up his own and El's drinks. “It's in the way you look at him sometimes – it's obvious that you've connected marriage with issue resolution in your head. You're only going to be disappointed. He already loves you, he shows it a million times a day – why do you need a ring so desperately?”  
“You know how much this means to me, Lou,” Harry mumbled, swirling his finger in the condensation on the side of Zayn's drink. “You know, probably better than any of my other friends. Considering everything we've been through, all of the mistakes we've made, the way we were even able to become fucking official – can't you just – can't you just be _happy_ for me? That I've finally gotten one step closer to what I've wanted?”

“Oh, Harry, c'mon,” Louis said, putting his drinks back on the bar and grabbing Harry by the back of his neck, pulling Harry's head down so he could bump their foreheads together. “I'm fucking elated for you, all right? Zayn's been talking my ear off about it for so long, how he was saving up for that ring, and then how he was waiting for the right time to give it to you. I'm glad he finally was able to give you your moment. But you're like my little brother, yeah? I'm just looking out for you.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, grabbing his own and Zayn's drinks and walking back over to their booth. “Your little brother.”

Harry couldn't tell why that particular comment out of everything Louis had said bugged him so much, but he ended up drinking until he completely forgot about it.

 

Harry recognized on a certain level that Louis was onto something. Louis was pretty much always right, even if he did have a habit of presenting things in a really shitty way.

But strictly speaking, the type of relationship Zayn and Harry had was banned by the University of California and frowned upon by most of the people in their life. Their friends and family, for the most part, had learned to deal with it, and as far as the University of California was concerned, the fact that Harry and Zayn, a student and a faculty member, were living together and fucking regularly was a bit of an open secret at this point, and when administration actually looked into it, they came to the conclusion that Zayn and Harry only first started sleeping with each other sometime late in Harry's sophomore year, months after Zayn and Perrie's engagement imploded, and a full year after Zayn had been Harry's TA. Anyone who knew the full truth wasn't going to blab – Louis would never rat them out, and neither would Harry's best friends. Then you had Taylor Swift, Harry's ex-girlfriend and another graduate student at the university, who would never let on that she had been dumped by Harry for Zayn since it would probably reflect poorly on her, as well. It wasn't like Zayn and Harry were going to correct anyone on campus who thought they got together later than they did – considering that Zayn had been responsible for Harry's grades (and especially after Zayn had admitted to Harry once that he _did_ bump Harry's grade up a _little_ bit, just enough to move it from a solid A to an A+), Zayn could get into a shit ton of trouble if the whole truth came out, and Harry's whole academic career would also come into question. And Harry couldn't let that happen. So, he would deal with petty snide comments, _whatever_ he needed to, so long as he got to go home to Zayn every night.

Kind of like now. Harry was involved in a lot of student groups – he wrote occasionally for _The Daily Californian_ although in recent months he limited his involvement to the photography side since he was so busy with his thesis, volunteering with CALPIRG and a few other service groups whenever he could, and serving as one of the leads for the PR Team for Cal Dems, alongside his best friend, Liam. It was during an informal meeting with a handful of people from that particular committee that one of the girls who had never seemed to like him, Jenny Mathers, grabbed his left hand while he was gesticulating rather broadly and complaining about their Twitter account, staring morbidly at the thin band on his ring finger.

“What's this?” Jenny asked, her neon pink fingernails pinching uncomfortably at the skin around his wrist. “Is that a _wedding_ ring?”

Harry blushed, snatching his arm out of her grasp and shoving his hand in between his thighs. “It's an _engagement_ ring, not that it's any of your business.”

“You're the one flouncing around campus with an engagement ring from Professor Malik,” Jenny retorted. “It should be administration's business.”

“He's a lecturer, not a professor. He's not tenured, and we got the 'ok' from administration.” Harry barely refrained from tacking on, “You dumbass.” God, Jenny Mathers could be so fucking annoying.

“Well, you would know,” Jenny added with a sniff. “Or maybe you wouldn't, seeing how being with him means you can fuck your way to an A, so it doesn't matter what your actual intelligence level is.”

“That's enough, Jenny,” Liam warned, but Harry had already reached his breaking point, scooping up his things and standing over Jenny, pasting on the most insincere smile he could manage.

“Just because he's your teacher in that Comp Lit class and refuses to let _you_ fuck your way into boosting up that C doesn't mean you need to take it out on _me_ ,” Harry hissed before sweeping out of the Free Speech Movement Cafe, only letting himself take a little satisfaction in the indignant squawk Jenny let out as he left. Harry wasn't supposed to know something like that – Jenny's grade in a Comp Lit class that Zayn was teaching, and she might say something to Zayn or administration about it, but hell. If she wanted to resort to low blows, so would he. He would _always_ play dirty wherever Zayn was concerned.

 

It wasn't exactly a sustainable working environment, either way – Louis had been right about the engagement having a possible effect on Zayn's career. Zayn had been dropping hints about looking for a new job for ages anyway, had been complaining about getting too comfortable with his Lecturer role at Cal and needing something new. Harry understood, but at the same time, he hoped that “something new” didn't mean “relocating across the country to teach in D.C.” or something of that nature, because Harry had already lined up a job at a social justice nonprofit in San Francisco after graduation and he fucking refused to do the long distance thing.

“We're engaged now,” Harry reminded Zayn approximately every two minutes. “You can't just apply to jobs halfway across the country without consulting me. You can't leave me alone here.”

“I'm well aware that we're engaged, considering I'm the one who dropped a grip on that ring,” Zayn always retorted, faux sweetness dripping from his words. “I'm not planning on leaving you.”

“Are you _sure_?” By this point Zayn always looked vaguely like he was going to throttle Harry, so Harry dutifully stopped this line of questioning, even though he never exactly got the answer he wanted. Was it too much to ask for – verbal confirmation that Zayn wasn't going to up and leave Harry now? To wake up in an empty bed and not have that moment of panic, thinking that Zayn had finally gotten sick of Harry and left him in the middle of the night, all before realizing that Zayn was just taking a shower? Louis was right – it wasn't like Zayn had a tremendous track record with engagements, or like, relationships in general. Harry just wanted a hard and fast guarantee, that was all. Preferably in writing, preferably in the form of a fucking signed marriage certificate, but spoken word would do.

“Maybe we should get a new place,” Harry proposed one day over dinner, spearing his ravioli and glancing across the table at Zayn. “Start looking at apartments in San Francisco.”

“I'm a non-tenured Lecturer at a public university,” Zayn said, quirking an eyebrow up at Harry. “You're going to be working at a nonprofit earning $35k a year. We can't _afford_ an apartment in San Francisco.”

“Yeah, we can,” Harry answered. “My mom said she'd help me out.”

Zayn sighed. “We can't just rely on your parents financially, Harry. I'm pretty sure that's the opposite of what you're supposed to do when you're planning a wedding and all that.” Zayn rolled his eyes, letting Harry know exactly how he felt about wedding planning. They hadn't talked about it much and both were content with putting off the ceremony for another year or so, at _least_ , but Zayn had said that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with the planning, insisting that he would much rather go to Vegas or just take a trip down to City Hall than have a big to-do with people who actively wanted their relationship to fail. “Weddings are always for everyone else,” Zayn would say whenever it did happen to come up. “And fuck everyone else. I just want _you_.”

“Well, she was the one who brought it up,” Harry replied, chewing on his ravioli. “Actually, she said she wanted to help me get a house, and I told her an apartment would be fine.”

“Wait,” Zayn interrupted, looking at Harry inquisitively. “Does your mom even know that we're engaged? You keep saying 'me' and not 'us.'”

Harry squirmed a bit in his seat, shoving another piece of ravioli into his mouth. “Um.”

“You haven't told her? It's been a _month_ , Harry.”

“That's not just something you tell someone on the phone, or on Facebook!”

“You haven't even put it on Facebook? But it's all right to tell literally _everyone_ on campus?” Zayn clarified. “Liam told me that you announced it during a Cal Dems meeting after that Mathers girl called you out about wearing the ring. Your parents live in Walnut Creek. That is twenty fucking minutes away. You have a fucking car – you can tell her in person any time.”

“ _We_ can tell her in person,” Harry suggested. “Come with me, let's go visit them this weekend.”

Zayn sighed, rubbing his fingers over his eyes. “I'm twenty-nine years old, I have a shit job, and I want to get married to someone who is fucking incapable of picking up a phone.”

Harry threw his piece of sourdough at Zayn's head. Zayn looked endeared instead of annoyed. Harry felt like that spoke volumes to the dysfunctional reality of their relationship.

 

That weekend, Harry and Zayn drove up to Harry's mom and step-dad's house. Zayn always got a bit weird in the car whenever they went up to visit – which wasn't all too often, to be fair – going quiet and broody the whole ride up. Zayn said it was because he felt uncomfortable around all of that wealth, which didn't even make any fucking sense because Zayn grew up in a solidly middle class household in Southern California, which Harry always saw as being wealth central, and it wasn't like Harry's parents were filthy rich, or anything. Harry's step-dad did do pretty well for himself, though, and they had recently acquired this amazing property – five bedrooms, four bathrooms, and a pool overlooking the hills. Harry's step-dad said they could do with the extra space now that Gemma had found a job in Concord and was looking to move back in with her parents.

“Oh, but your family isn't wealthy,” Zayn said mockingly in the car. “It's only a $1.4 million, five fucking bedroom property.”

“We're not like, _rich_ , though,” Harry pouted. “I didn't even get a car until graduation.”

“I didn't get a car _ever_ ,” Zayn retorted. “You and your sister both went to private school. You fucking – you spent a year in Italy for no fucking reason, and then a summer in the UK just dicking around on your parents' dime. You got into Harvard and didn't go because your mom said you'd be too far away, again. Ugh, how do you even _function_ when your parents do everything for you?”

“You can get out of my car, and then let's see how well you'd function on the side of the road,” Harry retorted. “You're acting like such a dick, calm down, please.”

“You're not even a good driver,” Zayn added. “Your parents bought you a car, and then didn't you say you promptly crashed it?”

“Look!” Harry exclaimed, pulling in front of his mom's house and putting the car in park. “I know you're like, nervous or whatever, and you're expressing that by being needlessly aggressive with me, but it'll be fine, yeah?”

“I'm not being needlessly aggressive,” Zayn protested but Harry sighed and rolled his eyes, taking his hand and cupping it around Zayn's crotch, just letting his hand sit there while Zayn looked up at him through the fan of his eyelashes.

“You be good today and I'll let you do whatever you want when we get back to the apartment, all right?” Harry murmured. “Whatever you want.”

Zayn's eyes flashed. “You sure you can promise that, babe?”

“What's your worst, Malik?” Harry asked, withdrawing his hand and kissing Zayn lightly. “Surprise me, yeah? Within our limits. C'mon, let's get this over with.”

Harry's mom was cooking when they got in, something that smelled spicy and comforting. “Asked Zayn's mom for a recipe over Facebook,” she said when she greeted them at the door, a kitschy apron thrown over her simple outfit of jeans and a black cashmere sweater. She pulled Harry in for a hug and did the same with Zayn, Harry not even bothering to hide the huge grin that bloomed across his face at the sight of them together. “She's such a sweet woman, Zayn.”

“Thanks,” Zayn answered awkwardly. “I didn't know you guys talked.”

“'Course we do,” Harry's mom exclaimed as she led them from the entryway through to the kitchen. It was huge, spacious and airy where the sun streamed in through large, rounded windows. She headed straight to a large skillet on the stove, stirring it a bit before turning the heat down and placing the top over it while Harry sat at a stool at the island in the middle of the room. Zayn awkwardly pulled the seat on Harry's right, dropping his hand on Harry's knee and leaning into Harry's shoulders. “We've scheduled phone calls and everything. Mondays at nine, we watch the Real Housewives together.”

“Oh God,” Zayn murmured while Harry snickered and purposefully put his left arm on the table, leaning his chin on his left hand. “You really shouldn't encourage her, Anne.”

“It's quality television, I'll have you know, Zayn,” Harry's mother said with a grin, coming to stand on the other side of the island. “So, we've got chicken jalfrezi here on the stove, and I just picked up some naan, I hope that's all right. I tried to make my own batch a few days ago and it turned out horribly. Harry, would you be a dear and set the table in the dining room?”

“Right,” Harry said, taking his engagement ring off and sitting it on the counter-top with a soft clink. He looked up at his mother, winking at her as he walked around to the other side of the room to turn on the sink and wash his hands.

“Harry,” his mother said lowly as he toweled his hands dry. “Which hand was this ring on, love?”

Harry grinned and flounced over to his mother, pecking her on the cheek. “Which one do you think?” he asked cheekily as he looked across at Zayn, who was watching them with a distant, guarded expression. “It's _perfect_ , isn't it?”

“Oh, _baby_ ,” his mother cooed, her face going gooey as she looked up at Harry and pulled him into a suffocating hug. “My _baby_ boy. Oh my God.”

“Mommy, I can't breathe,” Harry joked as she pulled back and smiled softly at him. “Want me to go set the table then?”

“Yes,” his mother said, her cheeks red when she turned back toward the stove and began pulling down plates. “Let me have a word with Zayn, love?”

“Sure,” Harry answered with a shrug, walking through to the dining room to do as his mom told him.

They actually didn't eat for another hour or so, Harry's mom directing Zayn through to the den for “a word” that ended up stretching much longer. By the time they were done, Harry and his step-dad had abandoned the dining room and were instead watching the Packers game in the living room, Harry's step-dad smirking at Harry when Rodgers was sacked by an especially huge defensive end. Zayn walked into the living room and slumped onto the couch next to Harry, wrapping himself around Harry's waist and hooking his chin on Harry's shoulder.

“She's not _really_ happy, is she?” Harry muttered, turning a bit to look at Zayn.

“'It's not like I'm accusing you of something as ridiculous as deflowering my son, but I do still have some concerns about your relationship together,'” Zayn mumbled. Harry gulped – Zayn had a hell of a memory. He was sure that those words were close to verbatim. Zayn nipped Harry's ear, shrugged. “She's worried you're too young, rushing into things.”

Harry hummed and clenched his jaw. “If only she knew I'd bullied you into this after two years of endless begging, huh?”

Zayn scoffed but the hint of a smile appeared on his face nonetheless. “Nobody sees quite how awful you are but me, babe.”

Harry grinned and surged forward, catching Zayn's lips with his own and only breaking away when his step-dad coughed loudly.

 

It wasn't like Harry had purposefully set out to find one of those “us against the world,” ride or die, Bonnie and Clyde relationships. That hadn't figured into the narrative he had constructed in his head when he thought about love, to be honest. It was just – that's kind of what he and Zayn had, wasn't it? Sure, they had their little circle of close friends who got it, or at least pretended to, but mainly Harry felt like he was alone in the wild, surrounded by people who were jealous, who couldn't (or wouldn't) understand, who refused to be fucking _happy_ for him, who refused to understand that he was one step closer to everything he had ever wanted. And Zayn wondered why Harry hadn't told his mom – because he had anticipated this, at least subconsciously. This awkward conversation in the kitchen after dinner, while Zayn and his step-dad settled back into the living room to watch another sports game (and where Harry's step-dad was also likely grilling Zayn for the second time that day, now that he also knew about the engagement).

“Baby, of course I'm happy for you,” his mother was saying, loading the dirty dishes into the dishwasher and leaning back against the counter, her face flushed but sad. “But I'm also your mother, and I don't want to see you making the same mistakes I made with your father.”

“Zayn and I aren't you and Dad,” Harry said, crossing his arms against his chest. “It's not fair to compare us.”

“I'm not – ”

“No, you are,” Harry continued. “This wasn't even Zayn's idea, initially. I've been pestering him to take our relationship to the next level for ages, Mom. I want this. I want him, _so badly_. Forever.”

His mother sighed, walking over to the cabinet and pulling a bottle of wine off the shelf. “Baby, that's easy to say when you're only twenty-one. You haven't even graduated from school yet. And don't you think it says something, that you had to bully him into it?”

Harry frowned. “I can say whatever I want to Zayn until I'm blue in the face and try all types of tricks in order to get my way, but at the end of the day he always does whatever _he_ wants, Mom. He's always been like that – and yeah, maybe for the longest I wasn't sure how I fit into everything, how I was going to make sure that I fit. But now I know. He wants me. That ring is fucking expensive, Mom – I think he's been saving up for this for a while.”

“But are you sure that what he wants _forever_ is you, love?” his mother asked gently. “Can you say that, without a shadow of a doubt? Do you feel it in your bones, wake up in the morning knowing that it'll always be just you two? He has a long track record of really bad relationships, baby. He's been engaged before and we all know how that went, and the way you two even know each other – it's all made me very concerned. I just want the best for you, Harry. How do you know you two are even going to make it to the aisle?”

“Well, if you keep asking me things like this, I'll just get eloped out of fucking spite,” Harry said, his anger flaring up quickly, thrumming in his fingertips. “Pardon my language. I wanna go home now.”

“Harry – ”

“No, I'm done. I'm over it. He wanted me to tell you and now I have. Don't you think it says something that he proposed a month ago and this is the first you're hearing about it?”

“Baby – ”

But Harry had truly had enough. He turned and stalked out of the kitchen, walking through to the living room and running soft hands against the back of Zayn's neck as a greeting. The resulting smile Zayn sent Harry's way was blinding, and took the edge off of Harry's quick anger. “Let's go, babe.” Zayn exchanged a quizzical look with Harry's step-dad but he stood up dutifully, giving a perfunctory hug to both of Harry's parents before following Harry outside to the car. Harry started up the engine and pulled away before Zayn had even gotten his seat-belt fully fastened, Zayn looking at Harry a bit sideways as Harry sped down the street and pulled onto the freeway.

“Things didn't go so well with your mom, then?”

“Not really,” Harry said, gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles went white. “I shouldn't have expected otherwise.”

There was a beat of silence before Zayn sighed. “I've got something to confess, all right, babe?”

Harry frowned, chancing a glance over at Zayn in the passenger seat. “What?”

“I, uh. I haven't told my family either.”

Harry snorted, couldn't even find it in himself to be surprised, even though Zayn had given him a hard time all week over not telling his own mom. “Why not?”

“Same reason, I guess. Wanting to postpone all the conversations about if I'm sure, how young you are, shouldn't I get my life in order first, did I pressure you into this, why can't you go find a nice girl, Zayn, blah blah blah.”

“This is _bullshit_ , Zayn,” Harry groaned, wishing that they were home already, wishing that he could just lay his head across Zayn's lap and pretend as though this day had never happened. “Why can't people just be happy for us?”

Zayn smirked and knocked his hand against Harry's side. “People tend not to root for the couple who got together while one of them was already in a relationship and the other one was his teenage student.”

“How boring,” Harry grinned, putting his hand on the gear stick. Zayn leaned over, biting lightly at Harry's neck and resting his hand on top of Harry's.

“Was I good today, babe?” Zayn murmured, his breath hot against Harry's skin.

“Yeah,” Harry answered breathlessly. “You're good every day. You're _perfect_ , Zayn.”

“Do I still get to do whatever I want once we get back?'

Harry grinned. “Whatever you want.”

“We can turn this day around all right,” Zayn answered, smirking and leaning back in his seat.

 

It had ended up being slightly tamer than what Harry had been anticipating, but Zayn was always a bit cautious with Harry, afraid to push him _too_ far. Zayn had ordered Harry to strip the moment they got into the apartment and then yanked off Harry's bandana, using it as a blindfold and leading Harry through to their bedroom and guiding him onto the bed.

“I'm just gonna handcuff you to the bedpost, nothing fancy,” Zayn said from somewhere to Harry's left. “I'm gonna suck your dick and then I'm gonna fuck the ability to talk out of you. That sound good?”

“Sounds perfect,” Harry breathed. “ _Just get on with it_.”

Zayn slapped Harry once, hard, across the face, murmuring, “Shut the fuck up, Harry,” before grabbing both of Harry's wrist in his hand, handcuffing one, pulling the chain through the loop in the bedpost and handcuffing the other. Harry groaned, his dick twitching solidly against his thigh and pulled at the handcuffs a bit experimentally. The one on his left wrist was a bit too tight, already rubbing against the thin skin there, but Harry wasn't going to complain – if it wasn't a bit rough, it wasn't any fun. Harry could feel Zayn's presence at his side, could only imagine what he looked like, splayed out for Zayn like this, cock impossibly hard as he pulled on his handcuffs and waiting for whatever Zayn was going to give him.

“You're so fucking beautiful, Harry,” Zayn mumbled, Harry straining to hear him as Zayn walked along the length of the bed and ran his fingernail along Harry's Achilles heel. Harry inhaled sharply and waited as Zayn crawled onto the bed, moaning when Zayn attached his lips to the inside of Harry's thigh and sucked.

“Zayn, c'mon, please,” Harry babbled. “Just fuck me.”

“What have I told you about patience, Harry,” Zayn whispered against Harry's thigh, nipping lightly before peppering soft kisses further upward, close to where Harry's cock was curving towards his belly.

“But, Zayn – ”

Zayn was suddenly all over Harry, his body pressed against Harry's in the best possible way. Harry took a moment to revel in the sensation when his head went swinging again, Zayn slapping him soundly. Harry bit on the side of his cheek, hard, to keep from crying out but ended up moaning again when he tasted the sweet copper of blood on his tongue.

“Fuck, Zayn, I'm – ”

“Just shut up, Harry, goddamn,” Zayn answered, slinking down the length of Harry's body and taking him into his mouth. Harry keened, pressing forward into the intoxicating heat of Zayn's mouth and straining against his handcuffs, but Zayn pushed him back against the bed, making a small warning noise before taking Harry into his mouth again, swirling his tongue around the tip and sucking hard. Harry began to babble incoherently, completely overwhelmed, lost in the sensation of Zayn's mouth, imagining how good Zayn had to look in this moment, thick dark hair a mess, lips swollen in the best possible way, palming himself through his jeans as he took Harry as deep into his mouth as he could – and like, Harry couldn't imagine not having this whenever he wanted, couldn't imagine a world of vanilla sex with someone who didn't punish him when he deserved it, didn't push him and bring him back with soothing words and comforting fingers.

Zayn pulled off suddenly and Harry felt like he was going to die – he was already so close, body thrumming with energy, pent-up frustration that could only be soothed with Zayn's mouth. “Zayn,” he croaked. “Zayn, please – ”

“Changed my mind,” Zayn answered, his voice soft and ruined. He reached up and pushed off the bandana, caressing Harry's cheek and smiling as Harry blinked, readjusting himself to the light. “Gonna ride you, instead.”

“What?” Harry squawked excitedly and Zayn just grinned, reaching across Harry to rummage through the bedside table for lube. It wasn't like Zayn never bottomed – he just didn't do it a whole lot. It was usually a bit of a special occasion thing – Harry's birthday, their anniversary (they counted from the day they first had sex, not from the day Zayn dumped Perrie and they basically became exclusive, or whatever), New Year's Eve, or when they were both really fucked up off of drugs or alcohol. So Zayn just offering it like this – well.

It just felt like fucking Christmas, was all.

Zayn took his clothes off and positioned himself at the foot of the bed, pushing Harry's legs up as he spread himself out. He took a deep breath as he glided his lube-slick fingers past his scrotum, pushing into himself and biting his bottom lip hard.

“Shit, fuck,” Harry cursed as he watched Zayn slowly work himself open. “You're so fucking gorgeous. Let's get married tomorrow.”

Zayn laughed, adding another finger, his breath hitching. “You're so fucking stupid.”

“I'm not kidding,” Harry answered. “You're right, you know? Let's Carrie and Big this thing. Just go down to City Hall.”

Zayn shook his head in disbelief but didn't say anything else, instead withdrawing his fingers and taking the lube in hand again, working it over Harry's dick. “You ready for this, babe?”

“Not really,” Harry admitted. Zayn laughed, tossing the lube back onto the comforter before positioning himself over Harry, straddling Harry as he slowly sunk down onto Harry's cock. The look of intense concentration on Zayn's face slowly gave way to pleasure, his frowned brow smoothing out, his mouth slackening until he was almost entirely seated on Harry.

“You're so _big_ , babe,” Zayn mumbled, Harry groaning and flexing his feet, suddenly cursing Zayn for handcuffing his wrists to the bed frame so that he couldn't give into the temptation to grab Zayn by the waist, using sure hands to guide Zayn backwards, fucking into him slow and deep, instead having to wait and see what Zayn would do.

“Zayn – ” he whined.

“Just – gimme a moment, all right?” Zayn bit out, bracing his hands on Harry's hips and grinding his own experimentally. Harry let out a string of curses and Zayn smiled, leaning forward and sucking a bruise into Harry's neck as he began to ride Harry more energetically. Harry pulled harder and harder onto his handcuffs as he watched Zayn completely unravel, bouncing on Harry's cock as if he couldn't get enough of it, as if this was something he fucking did every day.

It was driving Harry crazy, Harry who wanted nothing more than to dip his fingers into the sweat shining along Zayn's stomach, run his hands through Zayn's mussed-up hair. Harry yanked especially hard when a throaty, choked out moan was punched out of Zayn and that was _it_ for his left wrist, a thin stream of blood trickling down his arm. Zayn immediately noticed it, leaning forward and licking the coppery trail and lapping at the metal of the handcuff before darting forward and kissing Harry, who eagerly sucked the taste of his own blood into his mouth.

“You're fucking sick,” Zayn mumbled, almost reverentially and Harry couldn't hold himself back anymore, shouting out a garbled string of nonsense including Zayn's name as his entire body flushed, vision going searingly white as his toes curled and he emptied himself into Zayn. Harry went entirely limp, almost surprised he didn't pass out (it didn't happen often, but the last time Zayn had made Harry bleed during sex, Harry had come so hard that he lost consciousness for a minute or so), and watched distantly as Zayn pulled off of Harry, a thick stream of come inking down his thighs as he moved up Harry's chest and sat himself over Harry's throat. “Open your mouth, babe,” Zayn commanded, and Harry did so obediently, his spent cock giving a vaguely interested throb as Zayn began to fuck his throat. It didn't take long for Zayn to lose it, too, must've been really close when Harry came – only a handful of thrusts before Zayn was spilling hot down the back of his throat and collapsing at Harry's side.

“Was that – was that okay?” Harry asked. “I'm sorry for coming first, I should've asked – ”

“Shut up,” Zayn answered. “We can talk about it later. Now is sleep time.”

“Um, can you undo my handcuffs first?” Zayn turned over and laughed, reaching back across Harry to unlock the handcuffs and then walking into the bathroom to get their first aid kit and a hand towel, putting a silly Spider-man band-aid over the cut on Harry's left wrist before cleaning them both up and falling back into bed, pulling Harry into his side and throwing a leg over Harry's waist. “I love you, you loser.”

“Love you too,” Harry mumbled in response, but Zayn was already fast asleep.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry often knew that he acted irrationally, being that jealous, possessive boyfriend that is the stuff of nightmares, but more often that not he just didn't care how he came across, was so caught up in his own head and pursuing his own ends that he couldn't give less of a fuck whether his behavior was scaring other people. Zayn didn't seem to mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frida is the best beta. Thanks also to Crystal and Emily, neither of whom beta read this chapter but who were both still instrumental in how it came out. And thanks, of course, to all of you for reading.

Harry fell into the process of wrapping up his research over the next few weeks and Zayn began looking for jobs more energetically. Harry was having his bi-weekly existential crisis, which included sitting in the kitchen with a bottle of Jack as he tried to read his professor's comments on his most recent draft, when Zayn entered the apartment, a smug expression on his face.

“You look happy,” Harry remarked, swallowing approximately another shot's worth of whiskey and wishing he had something a bit harder. He hadn't had a bump in _ages._ “I don't appreciate your happiness right now.”

“Oh, you don't, my little drunk?” Zayn asked, plopping down next to Harry and kissing him sweetly on the cheek, his leg bouncing with excitement.

Harry eyed him warily. “Who'd you fuck?” he asked. “Did you get into little Jenny Mathers?”

Zayn snorted. “No. C'mon, Harry, that's gross.”

“Did you fuck Louis?”

Zayn looked completely unimpressed. “Yes, I fucked Louis and he confessed his ultimate, undying love for me and we're going to run off to Bora Bora with each other and leave you, Eleanor, and his daughter as casualties of our burning passion.”

Harry sniffed. “You've done something similar in the past, so I could actually see that happening.”

“Why are you always accusing me of sleeping with random ass people?” Zayn asked, bewilderment coloring his tone. “You know what? Whatever. Remember that job interview I told you about, the one in Lafayette?”

“No.”

Zayn looked about two seconds away from combustion. “Well, I told you I had landed a job interview in Lafayette, at that stupid private school you actually fucking _attended_ – ”

“ _Oh_.” Harry could kind of remember the initial conversation, at least, Zayn sitting in the living room with his bong in hand as he mumbled something about maybe opening himself to high school teaching positions and then Harry looking up from his reading long enough to uselessly interject that he thought he heard something about his old high school needing an English teacher.

“And I got it!” Zayn said, clapping his hands in front of himself energetically. “So I'll be teaching English there, and I might be helping the Spanish department since apparently the current staff is a bit overwhelmed. They were super impressed with my CV and they said there's enough flexibility in my schedule that I could also take on a university Lecturer position, if I wanted to.”

Harry put his bottle of Jack down and swung into Zayn's lap, grinning at him before leaning in and kissing him thoroughly. “You're so fucking talented and smart and amazing.”

“Well, yeah,” Zayn agreed cheekily. “One of us has got to be. You're all right.”

Harry rolled his eyes and reached back across the table, grabbing his bottle and taking another sip of Jack. “Were you going to still go in for some of those Lecturer positions then?”

Zayn shrugged. “I mean, Berkeley will probably keep me on for as long as I want it, and I might be looking at a pay raise. But I was thinking about what you said a few weeks ago – ”

“I said something?”

Zayn rolled his eyes. “Yes, about moving to San Francisco. It would make sense, I guess, especially since you'll be working there. And I think I have a good shot at the Lecturer position at San Francisco State, but the pay might be a little less than at Berkeley.”

Harry shrugged. “I mean – it sounds like you don't _need_ to do the Lecturer thing, but like, if you want to, at least you won't have people bugging you about me as much next year since I'll have graduated. And then you won't be going from like Daly City to Lafayette and then back to San Francisco. It would still be a lot, though, Zayn, and I don't want you to overwhelm yourself. It might be easier to just stay here in Berkeley.”

Zayn pulled a face. “There's no way I want to stay in this apartment for another year. I miss living in San Francisco. Like, staying with you here has been great, but I want a dog – ”

“A dog? In San Francisco? What about a baby?” Harry interjected, raising an eyebrow.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Zayn asked, face flushing suddenly. “You are twenty-one. You shouldn't be bugging me so much about a baby.”

“Lou and El have a baby and they aren't married yet, either,” Harry pointed out. “Actually, how long have they been engaged?”

“Something like six years? I don't even know. They only got engaged so El's parents would help them buy that house. I'm not sure if they have any intentions of actually ever getting married.”

“Well, I'm just saying that if we want a baby by the time I'm twenty-five, we're going to need to start getting ready for it now,” Harry said. “And _I_ want a baby by twenty-five. Don't you want to be able to play with your child before you get too old?”

Zayn looked completely baffled. “We were talking about my new job, and then getting a place, and you had to spring the baby thing on me again before calling me old. Babe, can't we just like – revel in being engaged for the moment?”

“I am reveling in it,” Harry answered. “I'm fucking ecstatic. I got bored in class today and stared at my ring for forty-five minutes. I posted a shit ton of pictures of the ring on Instagram instead of working on my thesis earlier.”

Zayn frowned. “Don't my sisters follow you on Instagram?”

Harry groaned. “You _still_ haven't told your family, Zayn? Fucking hell.”

“I was getting around to it,” Zayn answered, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Zayn had a bad habit of turning his phone off for days at a time, turning it back on and getting overwhelmed by all of the notifications, and then turning it off again. Harry snorted when a series of notifications popped up on the screen. Zayn groaned and threw it halfway across the room, where it landed on their sofa and continued to ping uselessly.

“I take it all back,” Harry snickered. “You're really stupid.”

“Guess we have to go visit my family now,” Zayn mumbled, thumping his head against Harry's collarbone. “This is going to fucking _suck_.”

 

The next day after Harry finished up with his classes, he headed to Gordo's and picked up two burritos before visiting Zayn in his office, as was their habit. Harry had intentions of bullying Zayn into buying plane tickets to go visit Zayn's family and then planting more seeds about having a baby, but Zayn claimed to be too busy to eat with Harry, complaining about being behind on his grading and having an appointment with one of his students. Didn't stop him from taking his burrito before kicking Harry out of the office, though.

Harry was so upset he actually wanted to scream in the middle of Dwinelle Hall and then maybe throw some things at Zayn's door. Instead, he stomped outside, called up Liam, and met with him in the courtyard outside of Free Speech Movement Cafe. Liam was eating his own panini so he didn't mind that Harry pulled out his burrito and began eating it petulantly.

“So,” Liam started slowly. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Harry retorted, sneering down at his carnitas. “Nothing fucking happened.”

“Okay,” Liam said, because he was always the calm, patient friend. “So why aren't you having lunch with Zayn? It's Thursday. You guys always have lunch together on Thursday.”

“Because he apparently has an appointment with a student that he conveniently forgot to tell me about,” Harry answered. “He's probably fucking Jenny Mathers.”

Liam made a face that looked like he was barely refraining from rolling his eyes. “C'mon, Harry, you know you don't mean that. He _just_ proposed to you. You know he's not sleeping with another student, and he's definitely not messing around with Jenny. He loves you. A lot.” Harry hummed noncommittally and Liam sighed. “I'm sure it just slipped his mind. He'll make it up to you.”

“Yeah, right,” Harry answered darkly. “He always just assumes I'm a sure thing without putting in any of the work.”

“It'll be _fine_ , Harry,” Liam said, ruffling Harry's curls. “You're just – it's probably just jealousy, isn't it? Your guys' weird co-dependency thing – you're just not used to _not_ having him around. I know you don't mean any of it.”

“I mean it, I mean all of it,” Harry mumbled. “He can't just treat me like second choice all the time.”

“Harry, what are you even talking about?” Liam asked, obviously bewildered.

“Ugh, never mind,” Harry said. “Forget I even brought it up.” Harry shook his head once violently before looking up at Liam and smiling. “You're right, yeah? I'm sure I'm just being jealous and irrational.”

Liam nodded slowly, but Harry could feel his worried gaze throughout the rest of their lunch.

 

Harry was still annoyed with Zayn for reasons he couldn't exactly articulate, so instead of heading home and festering in his discontent, he took the bus up to Louis' house. Louis and Eleanor both worked, but they each had flexible enough schedules that at least one of them was always bound to be at home with the baby. Harry sent Louis a text instead of ringing the doorbell and Harry heard a bit of a ruckus inside before Louis threw the door open.

“Oh wow, it's just you?” Louis asked as he gestured for Harry to come in. “I can't remember the last time I've opened that door and only saw you on the threshold. I thought you and Zayn needed to be together at all times, part of your strange inability to function without the other one thing.”

“Yeah, well, it's just me,” Harry said, not even bothering to hide his irritation as he walked inside and settled down next to Riley, who was sitting in the middle of the living room surrounded by toys as Adventure Time played on the television. Riley clapped in excitement at the sight of Harry, and Harry pulled her into his lap, giving her a long, wet kiss on the cheek as she squealed happily.

“Well then,” Louis said, cursing under his breath, slamming the front door and walking into the kitchen. He returned with two uncapped bottles of ginger beer, handing one to Harry before settling into the couch. Riley climbed out of Harry's lap and crawled over to her toys, handing a kitten beanie baby to Harry before grabbing her own prized Finn plushie and babbling at the television. Harry and Louis both watched her with fond expressions before Louis cleared his throat. “So. What happened?”

“Can't just come and visit my friend without some ulterior motive?” Harry asked.

“Basically,” Louis replied. “So spill.”

Harry shrugged. “I don't know. Got really pissed at Zayn over something minor and I figured I would come here instead of like, going home and bitching at him.”

“I thought you bitching at Zayn was just foreplay, though,” Louis said.

Harry glared at Louis. “Look, I was being honest with you. I don't appreciate you fucking mocking my feelings.”

“I'm not mocking your feelings, Christ,” Louis replied. “What crawled up your ass and died?”

“I'm annoyed over something I rationally recognize as minor,” Harry answered very slowly. “Did you not hear what I just said?”

“Okay, let's back up then,” Louis said, holding his beer up in front of himself defensively. “Why are you upset with Zayn?”

“He didn't have lunch with me,” Harry mumbled. “We always have lunch together on Thursdays.”

“Okay, so that's the annoyed about something you rationally know is minor. But this is just tapping into something else that you're upset with him about then, right? It's not about lunch. It's about some bigger thing.”

Harry hated how intuitive Louis was when he wanted to be. “Well, yeah. We were talking about this new job offer he got and our future, I guess. Like where we'll be living next year and like – I'm so thrilled he's thinking and planning his life with me in mind, especially because you were saying that we need to be talking about that.”

“He's always done that on some level,” Louis pointed out. “You two are engaged. He's been thinking and planning his life with you for a long time now.”

“Yeah, but like.” Harry stopped and groaned. “This is going to sound stupid.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Nothing regarding your feelings is stupid, Harry.”

Harry took a long pull from his bottle of ginger beer and instead focused on the cartoon playing on the television set. “I told him I want a kid by twenty-five and he just tried to change the subject.”

Louis thumped his head against the back of the couch. “ _Ah_ , Harry.”

“I do, though!” Harry exclaimed. “I've told him this before. I've been talking about it for years.”

“Yeah, and it's bad enough that you think that you need a ring in order to make this thing real,” Louis retorted. “You don't need a baby in order to prove to yourself – or anyone else – that he loves you.”

“It's nothing like that!”

“Really?” Louis asked, putting his beer down on the coffee table and crossing his arms to stare incredulously at Harry. “This has nothing to do with your silly multi-year plan to ensnare Zayn?”

Harry sputtered. “What are you talking about?”

“I don't know, Harry,” Louis said with a sigh. “You tell me.”

“I just – I want this,” Harry admitted. “I want it all with Zayn – _you've_ got it all. The beautiful partner, the house, the baby. How come I can't want the same thing? Why should I have to wait for it? Everyone acts like I'm fucking crazy – ”

“Because you are,” Louis interrupted. “You are such a smart, caring, amazing guy but like – I don't even know how to say it nicely, Harry. You just get really _intense_ where Zayn is concerned. Which, fine. We all get really passionate about things sometimes, but like, Eleanor used to be afraid that you and Zayn would actually end up hurting each other. I know you guys have gotten better about not _throwing things_ at each other but is this really the type of environment you want to be bringing a child into?”

There was a long, loaded silence as Harry attempted to process the subtext of Louis' words. “Are you accusing Zayn and I of having an abusive relationship?” Harry asked lowly.

“Harry – ”

“No, you said El was afraid that Zayn and I would hurt each other,” Harry continued. “It would follow that you think Zayn and I have displayed abusive behavior toward each other. So why even humor the two of us as a couple if you don't think we're good together?”

There was a protracted moment where Harry just glared at Louis and Louis fidgeted in his seat uncomfortably, the sound of the television white noise in both of their ears. “Zayn did tell me that you've thrown things at him in the past,” Louis answered slowly. “He seemed pretty convinced that it didn't mean anything, probably because you never actually _hit_ him, but I'm not – like I've never thought you or Zayn capable of _really_ hurting each other, physically, emotionally or otherwise. Well, maybe not emotionally. You are both masters at getting under the other's skin. And you know that I'll always vouch for you two. But that doesn't really mean _anything –_ my opinion versus what's really going on, if there's something off here. I do think both of you are emotionally manipulative, and I worry about how you treat each other sometimes. I think it's only natural to be concerned because of the power imbalances that existed between the two of you when you first met – like Zayn took advantage of his job, there's no way of getting around that, and I think you recognize that Zayn feels some guilt with you for some reason, and so you always try to trick and manipulate Zayn into doing whatever you want. But by the same token, I honestly don't think either of you should or could be with anyone else. You guys are too much. You two probably need some therapy, though. And I definitely think you both should go see someone before you impulsively get married in Vegas like Zayn keeps threatening to do.”

Harry didn't know what to say. It was – the natural instinct was to get defensive, to deny everything that Louis had confessed. But that wasn't _fair_ , he knew that. Louis had been so blindingly honest, and the least Harry could do was be truthful as well, explain why it was that he acted the way he did. Explain to Louis why he often felt so angry with Zayn, why he felt compelled to throw remotes across the room, why he yelled at Zayn until he was hoarse, why he still secretly went through Zayn's phone every opportunity he got. Harry often knew that he acted irrationally, being that jealous, possessive boyfriend that is the stuff of nightmares, but more often that not he just didn't care how he came across, was so caught up in his own head and pursuing his own ends that he couldn't give less of a fuck whether his behavior was scaring other people. Zayn didn't seem to mind – only got annoyed when Harry's moods coincided with his own funks – but more often than not they fucked the aggression away and everything went back to their normal. Although something about this most recent bout of annoyance made Harry wonder whether sex would be a legitimate solution. Louis was right – the discussion yesterday and Zayn turning him away for lunch were tapping into a much larger issue, and Harry wasn't sure if he could talk about it without crying for years. So he naturally latched onto the last thing Louis said, changing the topic completely and asking, “Zayn's been talking to you about going to Vegas?”

 

Harry left when Riley passed out in front of the television and Louis' face shifted, almost like he was ready to grill Harry again now that his daughter was asleep. Harry quickly said his goodbye and walked down to the bus stop, hopping onto the line that would take him back down from Louis' house in the hills to his own modest apartment near campus. He was trying to imagine whether Zayn would be upset with him for fucking off at Louis' instead of coming back home to have a talk when his phone went off. Fishing it out of his back pocket, Harry was extremely surprised to see that the call was from Zayn's ex whatever, Justin. Harry unlocked his phone and answered with a forced casual, “Hey, bro, what's up?”

Harry wasn't sure how he would categorize or define his own relationship with Justin – they most certainly weren't _friends_ , although Justin was probably the person that best understood Harry's deepest, darkest fears and insecurities, the things that he couldn't talk to Louis or Liam or Niall about but which were easily understood and dissected by someone who had once been in a similar boat. But that didn't make them friends, really. You just couldn't apply the word “friend” to someone who used to regularly fuck your fiance, someone who by all accounts manipulated your fiance's feelings and still felt absolutely no remorse about it. Yet Harry had sought Justin out, initially more out of morbid curiosity than anything, and continued to speak with him semi regularly, although theirs was more of a texting relationship than anything else.

Zayn still had no idea that Justin and Harry even knew each other, though – had no idea that Harry used to stay over at Justin's house, would meet up with Justin for lunch when he said he was with Liam or Niall. Harry still wasn't sure how he was able to keep that lie up for as long as he had.

“Congratulations, Harry,” Justin replied, his voice smooth and loose. He'd been smoking, then. He tended to be on some sort of substance whenever he decided to actually call Harry. Justin was messy like that. “Finally pressured him into getting down on bended knee, huh?”

“Something like that,” Harry said, pressing his foot against the seat in front of him. “Thanks, man. But – wait. How did you hear about it?”

“I heard about it from Perrie, actually,” Justin said. Harry frowned as Justin laughed and sucked in a deep breath. “I guess her and Louis' girl are still all right friends, and Perrie likes to keep tabs on what Zayn's doing – she probably always secretly hoped you guys would go up in flames, try to swoop back in, even though she's now got her own kid and all that shit.”

“I don't think _that's_ a secret,” Harry mumbled darkly, remembering the first year or so after her and Zayn's relationship ended and the subsequent and steady barrage of hate Perrie used to send him via Facebook messages bi-weekly. As far as Harry was concerned, Perrie could go have a pleasant lie down in the middle of a ditch.

“Nah, you're probably right,” Justin acknowledged. “But anyway, she's been talking about moving back down to SoCal for a hot minute, so she started hitting me up a few weeks ago, asking me if we could meet up before she goes down there for good. Finally got around to seeing her yesterday.”

“Good, I hope you helped her pack her shit. But what's all this got to do with me?”

“I'm getting there, bro,” Justin laughed. “We put the kids down, had some mimosas. Then she tells me that last time she was down there house hunting she also had dinner with Zayn's mom and one of his sisters – I wanna say Waliyha, she's the only one down there now, huh?”

“Yeah, Safaa goes to school in Washington and Doniya is up here,” Harry answered, completely unable to keep the bewilderment out of his tone. “What the fuck is she doing, meeting with Zayn's family, though?”

Justin paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was thick, raspy. “That's what I asked her, of course. She's on this scheming tip right now, bro. She didn't know 100% about the engagement when she was down there, she only got the confirmation from Louis' girl a few days ago, and Zayn's mom seemed to think Perrie was just making shit up when it came up in conversation. I take it that Zayn hasn't straight out told his family?”

“Nah, neither of us did a really good job of like, alerting the in-laws.”

“That's your choice,” Justin mumbled. “But I'm just letting you know, bro. She's out for blood, especially now that her and her baby daddy have broken up. She never _really_ got over what you two did to her.”

Harry honestly didn't care what Perrie had or hadn't come to terms with. He couldn't even put into words how much he _hated_ even hearing Perrie's fucking name, how much he _hated_ knowing that she and Zayn ever occupied the same space, shared the same bed, shared the same _life_ . How _dare_ she try to ruin what Harry and Zayn had built together? How _dare_ she think that Zayn would ever look backwards, would ever think to move in reverse? How dare she assume that his eyes would do more than give a passing glance over her face after everything he had experienced with Harry? “I'll make sure to send her an invite to the ceremony,” Harry snarled, choking down his childish urge to scream. “I'll even give her a special place of honor.”

“You're cold-blooded, kid,” Justin laughed. “That's all. Just wanted to give you a heads up and send along my well-wishes. Tell Zayn I say 'hi.'”

“You never give me good news. Go fuck yourself,” Harry replied brightly before hanging up. It took everything in his power to not throw his phone against the dingy bus window. He somehow managed to calm down enough to fly off a quick text to his good friend and occasional coke dealer, Nick – “How much for some white?”

 

Harry got home at something like eleven, which was about nine hours later than he normally did on Thursdays. Zayn was waiting for him in the dining room, a packet of cigarettes and an ash tray sitting on the table, a lit one in his mouth as he flicked his lighter on and off. Zayn turned sharply at the sound of the front door opening, his mouth curling around his cigarette in a snarl.

“Where the fuck were you?” Zayn asked. “Your phone not working?”

Harry shrugged, throwing his keys onto the counter and heading toward their bedroom. “Out. Clearly.”

“Out?” Zayn repeated. “With who?”

“Nobody, shit,” Harry answered, tossing off his T-shirt and peeling off his jeans. Gone were the days where he used to wear blazers and prim button downs in an effort to impress Zayn. They had both changed so much in the past two years.

“Out by yourself?' Zayn asked, appearing in the threshold of their bedroom, cigarette still in hand. “Or with fucking Nick Grimshaw?”

“I went to go clear my head because I was pissed at you for blowing me off at lunch,” Harry said. “I hung out with both Louis and Liam, that's it. I swear.”

“Do you think I'm stupid?” Zayn inquired. “Louis said you left his house _hours_ ago. Who were you with?”

“Nobody! Fuck!”

Zayn rolled his eyes, his voice taking on a cruel, mocking tone. “But we're _engaged_ now, Harry. We don't have _secrets_ . Can't have secrets and have a wedding and a _baby_.”

Harry paused, running his hands through his hair while he looked up at Zayn. “You're an asshole.”

“Not so nice, hearing it from the other end, is it?” Zayn growled. “Whatever. Do what you want, Harry. Go fuck Nick Grimshaw for his leftover coke, it's not like I _care_ about you or anything.” Zayn turned and slammed the bedroom door behind him.

Harry felt incredibly stupid. He went to bed alone.

 

Harry woke up the next morning after a very restless and unsatisfying sleep to Zayn sitting on the foot of the bed, smoking lazily. He was so beautiful like this – the early morning sun highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, his hair lying soft against his forehead. Harry took a long moment to just admire Zayn, to drink in the fact that this gorgeous, smart, amazing man was all his. But naturally he had to open his mouth and ruin the moment.

“Did you even go to bed last night?” Harry croaked, voice raspy from disuse, before tacking on, “You're not supposed to smoke in our bedroom, remember?” Zayn looked up and glared at him before tossing a bag of coke into Harry's face. He'd gone through Harry's pockets, then. Harry couldn't even pretend to be surprised – they both always went through each other's stuff. If Harry _didn't_ want Zayn to find the coke he would've hidden it better.

“You're not supposed to go buy drugs off Grimshaw without me, remember?” Zayn countered. “How much of a discount did he give you for a blowjob?”

“Zayn,” Harry plead. “Babe, you know I would never – ”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Zayn answered, stubbing his cigarette out against their bedpost. Harry made a small, annoyed sound at Zayn's blatant disregard for their furniture, but Zayn just ignored him, dropping the butt in a spare ashtray on their bedside table and then crawling into bed, bracketing Harry in by straddling his waist, grinding into Harry slow and dirty.

“I did go see Nick,” Harry admitted. “I just – I was so mad – ”

“At me?” Zayn asked. “About lunch?”

“It's more than that,” Harry mumbled. “I just – sometimes I don't think you take me seriously. Don't take our _relationship_ seriously.”

Zayn frowned. “I take you more seriously than any other thing in my life.”

“ _Do you_ , though?” Harry inquired insistently, combing his fingers through Zayn's hair. “And is it healthy, the way we're with each other?”

Zayn blinked. “What are you really asking here?”

Harry chewed at the inside of his cheek and sighed. “Louis and I were talking – he said that Eleanor used to be afraid of how intense we were. Was afraid that we would hurt each other. I asked if that meant they thought we had an abusive relationship. Louis just kind of like – I don't know. He's told me before that he thinks we deserve each other but that's not really an answer, is it?”

Zayn's face was soft and thoughtful as he looked down at Harry. “But what do _you_ think, though? Do you think our relationship is unhealthy?”

Harry squirmed underneath Zayn's gaze. “If anyone's abusive here it's probably me, so.”

Zayn screwed up his face and rolled his eyes. “Look, I'm not going to pretend like our relationship is some paradigm that everyone should aspire to. Both of us have a lot that we could be working on – probably should be working on, but whatever. We've got time. By the same token, I don't think a lot of people understand that we're just constantly _testing_ each other, seeing where the boundaries are. Like the lines are blurry sometimes, between exploration and abuse. I think what we should do is just make sure our friends aren't constantly dragged into it. That's where we're always fucking up.”

Harry huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, I think you're right.”

“You're mine, right?” Zayn said, leaning in closer to Harry. “I'm yours, and you're always mine, Harry.”

“You're mine and I'm always yours,” Harry murmured in agreement, reaching up to cup Zayn's face. “Always fucking yours, Zayn.”

“Anytime?” Zayn asked, nipping at Harry's collarbone. “Anywhere? However I want?”

“Yeah,” Harry answered, trying to ignore how the filthy push of Zayn's dick against his own was also messing with his bladder. He _had_ just woken up. “Anytime. Anywhere.”

“Like right here?” Zayn continued, rubbing his hands up and down Harry's side as he ducked his head down and licked around Harry's right nipple. “Real quick, before you have to go to class?”

“Don't even have to go to class. Don't need to rush. I can skip,” Harry said, squirming underneath Zayn's ministrations. “But like – shit. Zayn, I have to go piss first, I'm sorry, babe.” Zayn pulled back, his countenance contemplative. Harry was immediately interested and very turned on. “What's that face mean?”

“I was just – ” Zayn paused. “We never tried watersports before, I was just realizing it.”

Harry shrugged. “I thought you wouldn't be into it.”

Zayn mirrored Harry's gesture before leaning back and bracing his hands on Harry's knees. “I'm not like _opposed_ , I guess. I'm assuming you tried it and liked it?”

Harry grinned. “Taylor Swift is one kinky girl.”

Zayn pulled a face, miming vomiting before ducking in again, biting at Harry's neck while he palmed Harry's increasingly interested cock. “Go stand in the shower,” he murmured, leaning back and climbing off of Harry. “Go, like you're just taking a shower to get ready for class.”

“Okay,” Harry said, gingerly getting out of the bed and walking into their bathroom, leaving the door open as he strolled over to the shower and turned the water on. It took a minute to get it to the right temperature before he was able to get in, leaving the shower curtain slightly open. Harry stood underneath the spray with his head bowed for a few minutes before he started to soap himself up, trying to ignore the insistent plea of his bladder as he cleaned himself. Zayn walked into the bathroom a few minutes later, the smell of marijuana wafting in behind him. Zayn grinned at Harry lazily, eyes already red, before taking off his own sweats and climbing into the shower behind Harry, leisurely running his hands up and down Harry's back before digging his hands into Harry's side, tickling him.

“Fuck!” Harry cursed, clamping down on the urge to wet himself. Zayn just laughed at him and did it again.

“Afraid to embarrass yourself in front of me, Harry?” Zayn asked teasingly, digging his hands into Harry's sides mercilessly. “What about 'mine'? Anytime? Anyplace? _However I want_?” Harry cursed again and Zayn pushed Harry against the shower wall, grabbing Harry's left leg and wrapping it around his own waist, grinding against Harry and making Harry mewl out in a mixture of pleasure and discomfort. “Won't even let me watch you piss in the shower? Where's the intimacy, Harry? The trust? What kind of fiance are you?”

Harry's head was spinning and he made another high, frustrated noise, something like a groan mixed with a huff of laughter. “Zayn, I – ”

Zayn made a soft shushing sound, murmuring, “I'll take care of you, babe,” and petting at Harry's sides before taking his hands and wrapping them around Harry's throat, pressing down softly. Harry yelped, the surprise of it all causing his entire body to shudder as his bladder released over both of them. Zayn looked down as Harry's stream streaked down his own legs, dipping his right hand into the mess on his thighs and then bringing it to Harry's cock, squeezing Harry's throat harder with his left hand as he slowly pumped Harry to full hardness. Harry moaned, breath coming in short, light puffs as he felt Zayn's fingernails catch around the skin of his neck, and then he was coming, his body going weak as he slumped against Zayn's front.

“I've got you, I've got you,” Zayn mumbled nonsensically, pushing Harry firmly against the shower wall and burying his face in Harry's neck even as his hand rested against the side of Harry's throat, rutting against Harry like a schoolboy who didn't know any better. “Always got you, babe.” And then Zayn was groaning, his come splashing against Harry's waist before sliding over his thighs and down the drain. They were both quiet for a few minutes, each attempting to catch his breath as the shower pounded around them, and then Zayn grinned at Harry, quietly, his own private smile that was only for Harry, kissing him chastely before grabbing the bar of soap to clean them both up.

 

Harry stubbornly tried to talk Zayn into buying plane tickets to go see Zayn's family, but Zayn ended up bribing Harry into driving down there instead (“We can try that thing you've been asking me about if you drive, how about that, Harry?”). Harry was in the final leg of writing his thesis and had been looking forward to Thanksgiving break as an opportunity to really buckle down and bang the rest of it out, although now it looked like he was going to have to put on his best face and try to impress the in-laws instead.

Harry had only met Zayn's family a handful of times before, and while he enjoyed everyone's company, he always left feeling like Zayn's mother _really_ didn't like him. Zayn always denied it, said that Harry was just being paranoid, but Harry wasn't buying it. She was just a bit cold, smile strained whenever her eyes locked with Harry's, and this time the strain seemed even more pronounced as her eyes skittered across the platinum band on Harry's ring finger.

Zayn's younger sister, Waliyha, immediately commandeered Harry, taking him onto the deck and offering him cigarettes and access to her stash of pills while everyone else was sitting around in the den watching a basketball game. Harry turned Waliyha down with a sly smile, Waliyha grinning as she put her own cigarette to her mouth.

“You're gonna need pills after all of them are done with you,” Waliyha said. “Just wanted to give you a heads up.”

“That bad then?” Harry said, squinting up at Waliyha. She really was ridiculously pretty – the same sharp angular bone structure as Zayn, but whereas Zayn's face still had this decidedly rugged quality to it, Waliyha's features managed to look soft, dainty, her hair falling to her shoulders in soft, dark brown strands. Harry knew that Waliyha was somewhere around his age, maybe a little bit younger actually, but everything about her just screamed wisdom, maturity. Harry wondered what _that_ was like – having people take your word seriously.

“Yeah,” she answered. “I mean – I'm happy for you and Zee, same as Safaa. My dad's pretty pleased, too – he thinks you're a lot of fun. Zayn's clearly head over heels for you.” Waliyha took another long draw from her cigarette, scowling a bit when she said, “My mom's just being difficult.”

“Think so?” Harry asked. “Is that why she dragged you along to have brunch with Zayn's ex?”

Waliyha smirked at Harry. “Who told you about that?”

“I've got eyes and ears everywhere,” Harry replied loftily.

“Yeah, it probably has something to do with that,” Waliyha answered. “Mom's just like – she says she's cool with it and I mean, she is always on the phone with your mom, trying to be friendly with your family, but then she goes and meets up with Perrie, makes me go, too. It's crazy.”

Harry shifted from one foot to the other, squinted off into the distance. “Is it because I'm a guy?”

“Nah, I don't think that has anything to do with it,” Waliyha answered dismissively. “Mom's always been really cool about stuff like that, although she probably wasn't expecting for Zayn to like a boy enough to want to _marry_ him. But she did _really_ like Perrie, probably more than Zayn did, to be fair. Had been pestering Zayn to marry her for years, even when Zayn admitted in a roundabout way that he cheated on her a few times and didn't seem to think it was too huge of a deal. Mom was the one who suggested that he could propose as a way to apologize. Dad said Mom'll get over it at some point, accept that Zayn and Perrie aren't ever getting back together and that's actually for the best.”

“It's frustrating, is all,” Harry said, leaning against the deck wall. “Like, I feel like she's saying, 'Fuck it' to my relationship. To me.”

“Nah, I understand wanting to be respectful to your future in-law but that shit would piss me off, too,” Waliyha mumbled. “Like, I don't think she gets that you and Zayn are actually _together_ , you know? That you aren't just a rebound for Zayn and he isn't just some experiment for you.”

Harry sighed, looking off the deck at the houses scattered across the Los Angeles hills. “Zayn keeps talking about getting eloped, you know,” Harry said.

“Is that what you want?”

Harry shrugged. “Dunno. I didn't use to understand why he would want that. Felt like he was trying to hide me or something – didn't want to show me off in front of all of our friends and family. But now. I don't know.”

“You guys should go to Vegas,” Waliyha said with a grin. “And invite me. I was in the MGM for a shoot recently and I would love to go back. Take a visit to that Little White Chapel and have an after party at the Palms.”

Harry opened his mouth to answer when the screen door opened, Zayn walking onto the deck and casting an amused look at both Harry and Waliyha.

“You guys hiding out back here?” Zayn asked, closing the screen behind him.

“Maybe,” Waliyha answered. “That why you're out here now, too?”

“Maybe,” Zayn replied, walking over to press himself behind Harry. “Mom was already laying into me. I know she means well, but I just – ”

“You don't have to explain to me,” Waliyha said. “Harry and I were already talking about it.”

“She says she wants to go to dinner with us tomorrow,” Zayn mumbled into Harry's neck, his eyes locking with Waliyha. They both made a face. “Just me, Harry, and her.”

“You excited?” Harry asked, turning around to look at Zayn.

Zayn shook his head, grinning before pressing his lips against Harry's. “What do you think?”

“Just remember that she means well,” Waliyha advised. “I don't think she's like actively plotting against the two of you.”

Harry hummed noncommittally and reached for Zayn's fingers, bringing their locked hands together to rest on the deck. Zayn rubbed his nose against Harry's shoulder and they both took a moment to breathe and take in the sunshine and view.

 

The dinner with Zayn's mom went about as well as Harry thought it would – as in, really fucking badly.

Zayn's mother had to work until about five, so Harry drove himself and Zayn down to meet her at a trendy American restaurant in West Hollywood for a six thirty dinner reservation. Zayn's mom was already waiting around for them in the lobby, and they were shown to a round table toward the back. Zayn's mother made a few small, snarky comments about the menu before the waitress came over and took their drink orders, Harry abstaining from alcohol since he was driving. Harry was pretending to peruse the menu when Zayn's mom cleared her throat, a forced smile on her face as her eyes landed on Harry's left hand again.

“I never did tell you congratulations, Harry,” she said. “I know you've been wanting this for a long time.”

“Thank you,” Harry intoned. “I have.”

Zayn snickered but very quickly turned it into a cough. Zayn's mother was not fooled.

“I'm still very upset with you, Zayn,” she replied sternly. “I had to find out about this engagement from Waliyha and Instagram.”

Zayn shrugged. “I wanted to find the right time to tell you in person.”

“You told me about your engagement to Perrie over text message, Zayn,” his mother pointed out.

“Yeah, because I didn't care,” Zayn answered. “I was already subconsciously trying to figure out how I could get out of that relationship anyway.”

Zayn's mother hummed and opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by their server returning to take their food orders. Underneath the table, Harry linked his fingers with Zayn's.

“Do you still talk to Perrie, Zayn?” Zayn's mother asked, taking a sip of water.

Zayn pulled a face, pursing his lips together. “No. There's nothing to talk about there.”

“She's been asking about you.”

Harry could feel himself bristling. “Why are we talking about her?”

Zayn's mother frowned. “Harry, I was just asking a question – ”

“I just find it extremely awkward that you're here to take Zayn and I out for dinner and then you bring up his ex,” Harry said, relaxing slightly when he felt Zayn squeeze his hand underneath the table. “We haven't even gotten our food yet and you've already launched headfirst into uncomfortable territory.”

Zayn's mother sighed, running her fingers through her hair. “I understand that, Harry, and I apologize for making things uncomfortable for you. But you have to understand that all of this has been moving very quickly from my vantage point. You've only been together for two years – ”

“We've been together for four,” Harry corrected. “Just because our relationship overlapped with his previous one doesn't mean what we had wasn't real or didn't happen.”

“And you're all right with that?” Zayn's mother asked. “You think that starting a relationship with someone who was already taken is a good foundation for a marriage?”

“At least there's no illusions between us. We have both seen each other at our nastiest, and we're still here for each other,” Harry replied. He grinned filthily and tacked on, “And there were definitely worse things than letting my hot TA take advantage of me.”

“Harry!” Zayn exclaimed, although Harry could tell by his tone of voice that Zayn was only moderately scandalized. If anything, Zayn's eyes looked extremely amused. Zayn always got off on Harry acting bratty.

“No, everyone thinks we're only into each other because of the sex, right?” Harry said, turning toward Zayn's mother. “Four years in each other's lives, a shared apartment and a ring, and it all boils down to great head.”

Zayn's mother sputtered. “Harry, that is in no way what I was insinuating – ”

“But it was though,” Harry interrupted. “This is like the fourth time we've had this conversation with a member of our family or a friend. Don't you think we haven't already heard these exact same concerns? 'Oh, Harry you're so young.' 'Oh, Zayn, you're taking advantage of him.' 'But you guys got together right after Zayn's other engagement went up in flames.' I have literally heard it all.”

“Harry,” Zayn warned but Harry was already barraging ahead. He was just so fucking _angry_. Zayn could sit around and listen to this shit all day if he wanted to, but Harry couldn't keep doing this. He was over it – sick of people taking his politeness for granted, sick of people assuming that he would quietly sit and listen to them list all of the reasons why he was apparently so stupid he couldn't even tell someone “no” if he didn't want to marry them. They could all go fuck themselves. He and Zayn were _fine_. It was everyone else who needed to think about their motherfucking intentions.

“What's it matter, your mom will always hate me,” Harry bit off, leaning back in his seat and glaring, daring Zayn's mother to object. She didn't, just stared at Harry in disbelief. “I get it, all right? I'm not Perrie – I'm not even Rebecca, and thank God I'm not Justin. You wanted him to marry Perrie because she was a pretty little lawyer, heteronormative stability in a nice, neat package. But you've got to understand – it is _never_ going to happen. _Never_.”

“Harry,” Zayn warned again, this time putting a hand on Harry's elbow but Harry shook him off, glaring at Zayn briefly before he continued.

“You don't need to keep up with this pretense, as though you are looking out for my best interests, or Zayn's. If you were, you would already know this his best interests are with me, and vice versa. I fucking love your son. I have cheated and lied and I would steal and murder for Zayn, and he knows this. There isn't a thing on this planet that could keep me from his side.” Harry paused, steeling himself and looking right into Zayn's mother's eyes. “I'm not expecting to ever have your blessing, or your trust, or even your friendship. But I'm going to be in your son's life for the long haul, so I would hope that you at least resign yourself to having me around.”

 

Harry and Zayn piled back into Harry's car after that disastrous dinner, Harry putting the keys into the ignition but not turning the engine on. Zayn sat in his own seat, not pulling his seat belt on, just staring at Harry for a long, tense moment before darting forward, wrapping his arms around Harry's neck and bringing him in for a bruising kiss.

“You're such an asshole,” Zayn murmured reverentially against Harry's lips. “You're such a spoiled brat.”

“Fuck, Zayn,” Harry answered in response, licking his lips so that his tongue darted against Zayn's. “Punish me, _please_ punish me, _Daddy_.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Zayn said, pulling away and leaning back into his seat, a familiar smirk plastered on his face. “I'll take care of you once we get back to Berkeley, all right, _princess_?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry bit out, taking a deep steeling breath, turning on the ignition, and pulling out of the parking lot.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Three is when my own writing started to mess with my head. Frida already read it and said it's fucked up. That's your warning lol


	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looking back, Harry wasn't entirely sure why he did it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was an absolute monster to write. Eternal thanks to Frida for reading two different versions of it and _always_ being there when I need to bat ideas around. Thanks to Emily for also listening to my first vague, half-formed ideas about what essentially became this part, even though I ended up picking the most fucked up option possible. Ooops, sorry, Emily!

It was the Saturday after the big Thanksgiving weekend, and Harry was trying to get _fucked up_.

“Drugs, drugs, drugs,” Harry said in a sing-song voice as Zayn lined the coke up. Zayn had already packed a bowl for them to share to help with the comedown, but Zayn always got very particular about the way they divvied up the white, would spend ages lining it up on their dining room table before finally letting Harry get a hit. Not that Harry was particularly bothered by it. Zayn's single-minded concentration as he got his lines just right always turned Harry on that much more, especially when he looked like he did now – hair messily styled up into something vaguely resembling a quiff, a spare blunt tucked behind his ear, his oversized glasses frames perched on his nose. It was kind of hard to believe he was even almost thirty – Zayn had always looked deceptively young, most people who didn't know them assuming both Harry and Zayn were somewhere in their early twenties. And Zayn just continued to get impossibly handsomer with age. Harry couldn't help but be both jealous and pleased, still somewhat in awe of the fact that he managed to land someone who was even better looking than himself. “Yummy yummy drugs,” Harry continued in his made up song. “Pearly white drugs.”

“The fuck is wrong with you,” Zayn mumbled, although it came out sounding much more like a statement than a question. “I can't believe I'm even doing this. Too old for this shit. You owe me.”

“Nobody's _making_ you line up cocaine with your Barnes and Noble card,” Harry said. “I will very gladly do all of those lines and fuck you until you can't see straight.” Zayn opened his mouth to say something but he ended up shaking his head and concentrating on the lines again. Harry hummed a bit under his breath, tapping his feet and looking behind himself to watch the episode of _Queer as Folk_ currently playing on their television. Zayn had gotten Harry the box set for his last birthday with a cheeky note about how Harry was the Justin to his Brian. On screen, Justin and Brian were locking eyes outside of Brian's usual haunt, the same sort of earth-shattering, life changing moment that Harry didn't even know happened to real people until his own eyes scanned a crowded lecture hall and landed on Zayn. “How come we never go to the club together?” Harry asked.

Zayn pulled a face. “Do I look like the type of guy to go do blow in the bathroom at some grimy nightclub?” Zayn rolled his eyes, glancing once more at the lines of cokes on the table before standing and walking over to the sink, grabbing down two glasses from their cupboard and filling them up with water from the tap. “I'm too old for the club, babe. Not that it was ever my scene, really. And I've got you – the whole point of clubs is to find someone to go home with, right? Turn off the lights, throw some vodka on the floor, and put on Pitbull if you want an authentic club experience.”

Harry sniffed. “You're no fun.”

Zayn shrugged, putting one of the glasses of water in front of Harry and placing his own on the other side of the table before glancing down at the lines of coke again. “Do you think this is too much? I mean it's just the two of us and my share looks like more than enough to get me wired.”

“It's not like it's going to go bad.”  
Zayn ignored Harry, cutting one of the lines in half and rearranging everything again. Harry huffed out an impatient breath, causing Zayn to look up at him sharply.

“Something wrong there, Harry?” Zayn asked, his tone slipping into something sharper, a bit more commanding. Harry sat up straighter in his seat, feeling arousal punch through his veins.

“No,” Harry said, voice going a little high. “Nothing's wrong.”

“You sure?” Zayn continued. “Do you need something to keep you busy while Daddy gets everything ready?”

Harry honestly wasn't sure when the Daddy thing first started. Unlike some of his other kinks, he hadn't played around with it in his previous relationships, had never really given the idea a whole lot of conscious thought, even though he supposed it had always been there, waiting for its day in the sun. But one day he and Zayn had been fucking in his office, Zayn bending Harry over the desk like usual, but punctuating one particularly deep stroke with the words, “Do you like that, _princess_?” Harry had shuddered and come so hard that his eyes rolled back into his head and he needed to lie down and collect himself on Zayn's floor for fifteen minutes. But even that – that hadn't been like some sort of “a-ha” moment. Harry always figured he had a little bit of a humiliation thing, loved when Zayn would put him in his place, but he hadn't fully realized that this was actually part of a larger desire for someone to take care of him, to guide him and comfort him and occasionally punish him when he deserved it. It wasn't until they were having a fight – something about Harry wanting Zayn to pay attention to him when Zayn was too busy grading, if Harry remembered correctly – and Zayn said that maybe he should buy some blocks to keep Harry occupied in his spare time. Harry went quiet and contemplative instead of firing off an equally condescending remark, and Zayn and Harry just stood there, measuring each other, for a long time.

So yeah, it just evolved from there. Zayn and Harry went down to Walgreens after Harry was done with class and picked up some toys and coloring books, and sometimes Zayn told Harry he was his “pretty princess” and told him to play with his toys when Zayn was busy, and sometimes Harry called Zayn “Daddy.”

Harry really, really, _really_ liked it, kind of wish they explored this particular bit of play a little more, but wasn't entirely sure how to bring it up without feeling like a total weirdo. Not that Harry figured Zayn would judge him, but Harry just felt like this was the sort of thing he really needed to work through on his own a bit more so that he could be clear and precise with what he needed from Zayn.

Although it was possible that Zayn knew exactly what Harry needed without Harry even telling him.

“Um,” Harry said, licking his lips. “I might be a little bored, Daddy.”

“Do you want to color in one of your books?” Zayn asked, turning back to playing around with the coke on the table. _God_ , their sex life was a trip. “Do you remember where you put your markers?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathed. “With my colored pencils!” Harry fucking loved his colored pencils. He probably fetishized color pencils a little at this point, couldn't help but associate them with sitting on his Daddy's lap and getting taken care of. “Can I color on the table with you?”

Zayn shrugged. “If you promise not to make a mess, princess.”

Harry flushed, stuttered out, “Y-yeah, yeah, I promise, Daddy,” before going into their spare bedroom, rummaging through a trunk at the end of the bed where they kept some of their assorted sex things – a few toys that Harry and Zayn had gotten tired of, a paddle, some costumes, a shit ton of candles, and a knife set that was actually a gift from Louis and El and which neither Zayn nor Harry quite knew what to do with. Harry found his coloring book – The Big Book of Princesses, naturally – and walked back through to the kitchen to dig in one of the drawers for his markers and colored pencils. Harry sat back down at the table, smirking up at Zayn before flipping through to a picture of Princess Belle and promptly dumping all of his markers and colored pencils out all over the table. Zayn looked up at him sternly and Harry mumbled, “Oops,” completely insincerely before reaching for a yellow marker.

“You're making a mess,” Zayn said warningly. “You don't need to spread everything out all over the table.”

“You're stifling my creativity,” Harry answered, outlining Princess Belle's dress with his marker. “I need all of my colors readily available.”

“Put your markers back into the box,” Zayn commanded. “You don't need all of them out at once.”

“But I _want_ them – ”

“Don't you want to be good for Daddy?” Zayn asked. “Don't you want to be my good little princess?”

Harry pressed the palm of his hand against his dick, taking a deep breath. He felt helpless with lust, couldn't even control himself – Zayn just got him so worked up so quickly sometimes that he didn't even know what to do with himself, felt like he couldn't even _breathe_ because he was so overwhelmed with desire, love, the intense urge to be _everything_ for Zayn, to prove that Zayn was right to pick Harry as his, forever. “Zayn – Daddy – ”

“Fuck,” Zayn cursed, throwing his glasses off onto the table before standing up and walking around to Harry, his Barnes and Noble card still in hand. “Open your mouth,” Zayn commanded and Harry did as he was told, sticking his tongue out as Zayn ran his card down the middle of it. Harry closed his mouth, swirling the cocaine residue around his tongue, and Zayn reached back across the table, gathering white onto his thumb and pinkie, sucking his smallest finger into his own mouth before offering his thumb to Harry, who greedily sucked the blow off and swirled his tongue around Zayn's finger for good measure. Zayn made a hungry, choked off noise before pulling his thumb out of Harry's mouth, wrapping his hands around the back of Harry's head and bringing him in for a violent kiss, plunging his tongue into Harry's mouth and not coming up for air until Harry's entire mouth felt numb and he wasn't sure if it was from Zayn or the coke.

“Daddy, can I do a line?” Harry asked, running his hands underneath the edge of Zayn's T-shirt, teasing along his boxers. “I need it, please, Daddy.”

“Just one,” Zayn mumbled, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand as Harry grinned and stumbled into the kitchen, going through their drawers until he found a straw. Zayn was always super particular about how he did his drugs but Harry had learned about white from the likes of Niall Horan and Nick Grimshaw, so he just snorted half his line through the straw, coughing to make sure he inhaled it all before attacking the rest of the line through his other nostril. Harry smiled up at Zayn loosely, handing over the straw and taking a drink from his cup of water, but Zayn just shook his head.

“Won't be able to fuck you properly if I'm high off that shit,” Zayn said, setting the straw on the table before placing his fingers through Harry's belt loops, walking him backwards past their dining room table and into the living room. Zayn pushed Harry lightly against the couch, Harry sinking into the cushions as Zayn slunk down onto his own knees and leaned forward, unbuttoning Harry's jeans and shoving them down around his ankles. Harry wasn't wearing underwear, as usual, and was already hard and desperate for it, breath going shallow as Zayn stared up at him through his eyelashes and spat into his hand, stroking Harry lightly, just teasing him.

“Zayn,” Harry said.

“Nope, try again,” Zayn replied, spitting over Harry's tip and smearing his saliva across Harry's slit.

Harry hitched in a breath. “ _Daddy_ ,” Harry breathed.

“Daddy what?” Zayn asked, licking the vein on the underside of Harry's dick. Harry could almost feel the moment the coke really started to kick in – Zayn's teasing touches seemingly magnified by a thousand.

“Daddy, _please_ ,” Harry begged.

“Gonna have to be more descriptive,” Zayn mumbled, his fingernails catching along the inside of Harry's thighs as he sucked on the head of Harry's cock. “Use your words, princess.”

“Daddy, please fuck me,” Harry gasped. “Please, please, please.”

Zayn hummed and took Harry completely into his mouth, Harry's jaw falling open as he felt Zayn's nose brush his pelvic bone and his cock hit the back of Zayn's throat. Zayn looked completely obscene like this, pressing Harry's cock to the pouch on the side of his cheek, and Harry was always a bit in awe of Zayn – how easy Zayn made it look, taking Harry's entire dick into his mouth like this, his tongue making lazy zig-zags around Harry as he pulled up with wet slurping noises, running expert fingers around Harry's balls before sucking them into his mouth as well. Harry carded his hands through Zayn's quiff, his fingers sticking on strands coated with hairspray, and held Zayn's head down, losing himself as he fucked Zayn's mouth in long, lazy strokes while Zayn sucked him mercilessly. Zayn tapped against Harry's thigh and Harry let Zayn go, Zayn taking a long shuddering breath as Harry's dick fell out of his mouth, thick strands of saliva connecting Zayn's lips to Harry's cock. Zayn licked his lips and stroked Harry as he caught his breath, his voice raspy when he asked, “Where's the nearest bottle of lube?”

“Bathroom, probably,” Harry answered distantly and Zayn stood, walking into their main bathroom as Harry pulled the rest of his own clothes off. Harry could hear water running – Zayn probably washing his hands – and then Zayn returned without any of his own clothes, grabbing Harry's ankle and repositioning him so Harry was lying lengthwise along the couch. Zayn crouched at Harry's feet, tossing Harry the lube and grinning.

“Wanna watch you,” Zayn explained and Harry just shrugged, drizzling a liberal amount of slick onto his fingers and then planting his feet so that his knees were in the air, reaching underneath himself to loosen himself up. Zayn smiled as Harry's breath hitched, pulling the blunt from behind his ear and sparking it with a lighter that he had left on the coffee table as his eyes alternated between watching Harry finger himself and the episode of _Queer As Folk_ playing on their television.

Every push of his own fingers felt like pure electricity to Harry, his dick leaking hot and wet against his stomach as he worked one, two, three fingers in, his body adjusting easily to each new intrusion. He could feel his entire body flush, could feel the way the coke was amplifying his reactions. Harry could probably come like this, Zayn watching Harry fuck himself as he smoked, Brian and Justin getting off together on screen.

“You good and ready, babe?” Zayn asked, blowing a cloud of smoke in Harry's direction. Harry just groaned in response, three fingers worked deep into himself, almost dazed with how turned on he was. “Come sit on Daddy's lap.”

Harry nodded, grabbing the lube again and working it over Zayn's dick until he was completely hard and slick. Zayn smiled at Harry, sweet and innocent, his grin faltering only when Harry positioned himself over Zayn's cock and lowered himself slowly. Zayn took a long pull from his blunt as Harry fully seated himself and held his hand over the side of the couch, scratching behind Harry's ear with his free hand as Harry ground his hips experimentally. Harry could fully attest – he was fucking _out of it_ , his arousal so intricately entwined with his high that he didn't even know what he was really _doing_ , just knew that nothing had ever felt as good as Zayn's cock. Harry brought his lips close to Zayn's, opening them as Zayn blew a stream of smoke into Harry's mouth, and Harry cursed, burying his head in Zayn's neck as he fucked Zayn dirty and slow. Zayn brought his hand to Harry's ass, palming at his cheeks as he continued to smoke, so high himself that they were both content to fuck forever, to melt into each other until there wasn't anything left of them but blood, gristle and spunk. Zayn started to sing something distantly into Harry's ear – he always had a really nice voice, Harry thought, it wasn't fucking fair – and Harry huffed out a laugh and began to stroke himself once he recognized what it was. “ _You got me lifted, shifted, higher than the ceiling, and ooh wee it's the ultimate feeling_ . . .”

Harry came with a sob, his orgasm pulsing out of him in a slow moving tidal wave as he clenched around Zayn. Zayn cursed, his fingernails dragging into Harry's side, but it was another few minutes before he came too, choking Harry's name out around the last gasp of his blunt. Harry was completely useless as Zayn managed to manhandle Harry back against the couch, Zayn making a small, pleased noise as he watched his own come dribble down the inside of Harry's thighs. Harry couldn't even find it in himself to be disgusted as Zayn touched his hole, fingers catching in the mess Zayn had left there. Zayn smirked up at Harry and walked back into the kitchen, his dick still obscenely hard when he returned with his pipe, shrugging and non verbally asking Harry if he wanted a hit.

“I think I'll be fine,” Harry slurred. “Too tired to smoke. Or move. Thanks, though, Daddy.”

Zayn smiled shyly and placed the pipe on the coffee table, leaning over Harry and wrapping himself around Harry's middle even though it was cramped and uncomfortable for both of them to attempt to lie down on the couch at the same time. “You're so perfect, Harry. So fucking good. I love you.”

Harry grinned to himself as he fell asleep.

 

The next two weeks passed by in a blur as Harry finished up his thesis and his final semester at UC Berkeley. Right after turning his paper in, Harry decided to take the bus to Louis' house since Zayn would be busy until about four. Louis opened the front door and let Harry in, Harry immediately feeling a bit on edge when he caught sight of the scattering of beer bottles on the coffee table.

“Where are Eleanor and the baby?” Harry asked, sitting down on the couch while Louis poked around in his refrigerator. Louis returned with two bottles of Corona, shrugging at Harry's inquisitive look.

“Out visiting her parents,” Louis replied shortly.

“Her parents,” Harry repeated. “But they're in Malibu, right? I thought she really only ever went over to see them during the holidays? Christmas isn't for two weeks still.”

Louis shrugged again, taking a long pull from his bottle and sighing. “We've been fighting, I guess. She said that maybe we needed some space, take time for herself. Our therapist advised against it, told her to stop running away from the problems but whatever. Staying with parents is cheaper than staying at a hotel. Took Riley with her.”

“You guys see a therapist?” Harry clarified.

Louis had already drank nearly ¾ of his beer and Harry had only been in his house for five minutes. “Yup.”

Harry tapped the side of his bottle, ran his finger through the condensation. “Can I – what have you guys been fighting about?”

Louis rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Don't pretend like you care, Harry.”

“I do care,” Harry said. “You and Eleanor are two of my best friends. You guys – your relationship is the only example of positive fucking love in my life, and I just want the best for you both.”

Louis finished off his beer and sat the empty bottle on the coffee table. “You're dumb – never look to another couple as a fucking example.” Louis got up again and grabbed another beer for himself, popping the top easily and taking a long gulp. “Where's Zayn? You guys at each other's throats, too? You here to vent?”

Harry squirmed a bit in his seat. They hadn't been, really, but that was because they were both too busy most nights to do much more than eat dinner together and fuck. Unsurprisingly, they _always_ seemed to find the time to get off. They still hadn't really talked about everything that had happened while they were down in Los Angeles, still hadn't talked about what the fuck they were even doing when their parents were so opposed to the engagement. But that was just how they tended to deal with things – ignore it until it wasn't a huge factor anymore. So Harry just shrugged and mumbled, “Aren't we always?”

Louis grinned. “What's wrong this time?”

“You know that we went to go visit his parents for Thanksgiving and – fuck, I don't know.” Harry scratched his scalp while he measured his words. “I was just upset with his family, I guess. Said some antagonistic things. I've heard that his mom has been hanging around with Perrie.”

Louis frowned. “Who told you that? Eleanor?”

Harry turned to look at Louis sharply. “You  _knew_ ?”

Louis put his hands up in front of himself defensively. “I figured it would be better if you were in the dark. Nothing good could come out of you having that bit of information – obviously.”

Harry banged his head against the back of the couch. “This is supposed to be the happiest time in my life.”

Louis reached out, tugged on one of Harry's curls and then carded his fingers through Harry's hair, ran his fingernails along Harry's scalp. Harry arched into the touch like a cat, tried desperately to relax. Harry's emotions had been all out of whack lately, and he pushed down the recurring urge to scream and throw a tantrum until everything went his way. “It still can be. Stop letting other people drag you down. This is all external shit, you know?”

“Yeah,” Harry hummed. “Doesn't make it hurt any less.”

“Stop caring, Harry,” Louis mumbled. “Just do what makes _you guys_ happy. Don't make the same mistakes as El and I.”

Looking back, Harry wasn't entirely sure why he did it. But he turned into Louis' touch, and Louis' hand slid so that it was cupping the back of Harry's neck. It didn't feel like a platonic gesture, but Harry found that he didn't mind – that he actually  _liked_ it, and his eyes locked with Louis'. Louis just looked so sad – blue eyes that spoke to so much more than what he was actually saying, the only portal Harry could find that showed insight into how complicated and frustrating his life with Eleanor had become. Harry wasn't sure how he had missed it – how he had gotten so wrapped up in his own drama that he hadn't picked up on whatever was going on between Louis and Eleanor. Harry wondered how it was that their friendship could be that one-sided, how Harry could easily come to Louis for advice, to  _vent_ , but Louis never felt compelled to do the same. It made Harry question how close they even were.

Despite all of this, Harry innately knew on some level that he wanted to take advantage of this situation – to see what was _really_ here between Louis and himself, during this pivotal but quiet moment when Louis' girlfriend and daughter were gone, when Louis was vulnerable and therefore more receptive to Harry's charm. Harry knew that he wanted to take advantage, and it should've scared him, but he didn't care.

There had always been something a little off between the two of them, not that Harry had intentionally set out to win Louis over or anything like that. Sometimes Harry would go down to Dwinelle Hall to visit Zayn and Louis would be the only one in their shared office, so Louis would sit with Harry, talk to him about classes, give him advice about how to best navigate Cal. And then at some point Harry took down Louis' email and cell phone number, and Harry stopped looking to Louis for academic feedback, but started asking him about Zayn, relationship advice, all that. Not that any of this made Zayn very comfortable. He freaked out once he found out that Harry and Louis talked and were actually fairly good friends. At the time, Harry honestly didn't understand why. Yes, Louis was attractive – Harry had eyes, he could appreciate Louis. And yes, Louis did seem to meddle quite a bit and was strangely invested in what Harry and Zayn were building, but that wasn't any cause for alarm. But now, as Louis' fingers traced small patterns on the back of Harry's neck, Harry couldn't help but think that maybe Zayn just picked up on something that Harry had pushed down, tried to ignore. Harry was loath to admit it, but maybe Zayn had been right to be wary, to be suspicious.

Harry really wasn't entirely sure why he did it, but it didn't come as a shock that he wanted to push. Harry always wanted what he couldn't have, especially if it was potentially painful and inconvenient. Hell, Harry would be lying if he said that discovering that Zayn had a girlfriend the first time they fucked was a deterrent. If anything, it only made Harry want Zayn _more_. Harry never backed away from a challenge and in this moment, Louis was a puzzle that Harry wanted to put together and then dump onto the floor once he was done. A disposable fling. Harry's brain was screeching at him to take a moment and think about exactly what he was looking to accomplish here and _why_ , what there was to even gain, but it was drowned out by the roaring in his ears, the thrum in his veins that wanted to bring someone down to the same level as himself. Louis could probably appreciate the appeal, too – of wallowing in a self-imposed hell with someone else to keep you company.

Four years of suppressed longing propelled Harry forward, his lips brushing against Louis'. Harry pulled back almost immediately, putting his hands up to his lips. Louis was looking at Harry in undisguised shock.

“Harry – ”

“Fuck, I'm sorry,” Harry said. “Oh shit. _Fuck_. I don't – I don't know why I did that.”

Louis just stared at Harry, his mouth agape and his eyes blown wide. He didn't particularly look upset, but Harry wasn't entirely sure – wasn't able to completely read Louis in this moment. It was unnerving, but Harry couldn't help himself, just had to see how Louis would react if he took this just  _that_ much farther. He leaned in again, closing his eyes and gripping the hair at the back of Louis' head, pressing their lips together in a chaste kiss. Louis breathed in, shaky and uncertain, before letting his lips part, surging forward and deepening the kiss. Harry made a small, choked off noise before plunging his tongue into Louis' mouth, mesmerizing the taste of him, a mixture of Corona and self-loathing. 

This was only going to happen once – whatever this was. Harry  _knew_ that. He knew that this was wrong, wrong,  _wrong_ . The worst thing that he could ever possibly do to Zayn, do to Louis, do to  _himself_ . He logically recognized all of this, realized that he was only pushing because he was fucking upset, had been for longer than he wanted to admit, and wanted to drag someone down, but none of that seemed like a good enough reason to  _stop_ . He didn't even know why he was going through with it, pushing his luck – why he was leaning Louis back against the couch cushions, why he was helping Louis throw off his shirt, why he was slinking down the length of Louis' torso, sucking love bites into his skin, running his fingernails along Louis' sides. Louis was swearing, mumbling to himself as he threw his arms over his eyes, “This is  _wrong_ ,” and “Oh fuck,” and “Zayn is going to  _kill_ me,” but he wasn't stopping Harry, wasn't telling Harry to leave, wasn't doing anything to keep this from going any further than it needed to, and Harry didn't question why Louis wasn't doing the right thing here, too wrapped up in his own head to wonder how Louis could be betraying his friendship with Zayn like this, how he could cheat on Eleanor.

It was almost too easy, unsatisfying in how quickly Harry was able to unravel Louis, how little effort it took to get Louis exactly how Harry had always subconsciously wanted him. That dissatisfaction didn't keep Harry from unbuttoning Louis' jeans, pushing them off, and licking around the outline of Louis' cock through his briefs before shoving those off. Didn't stop Harry from taking Louis into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and sucking him deeper and deeper until he felt Louis' tip brush against the back of his throat. Didn't stop him from thinking about Zayn the entire time, thinking about how he didn't even really know  _why_ he was doing this, didn't stop him from flinching when Louis came in his mouth, Eleanor's name on his lips.

“You know this didn't mean anything – I don't love you like that, Harry.” Hollow, empty words for a completely _meaningless_ activity. And wasn't that what people always said when they were found out for cheating, the convenient excuse for an act capable of ruining lives – that it didn't _mean_ anything? Harry suddenly realized that if he was going to fuck around with someone behind Zayn's back, he would at least want it to be worth the effort, to _mean_ something. Harry just felt dirty and used – he didn't even get to come before Louis completely freaked out. “They can't ever know.” Louis' words were urgent, cruel as he dressed himself, slowly made himself presentable again. Reassembling the pieces of a good boyfriend, an amazing father, someone's absolutely best friend. Louis couldn't even _look_ at Harry as he distanced himself, went to go stand in the kitchen. “Zayn, Eleanor – they can't _ever_ know.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed distantly, trying to wash the taste of Louis' spunk out of his mouth with two more bottles of Corona. Maybe if he drank enough he could pretend like this never happened, like he hadn't crossed the _one_ line Zayn never expected him to desecrate. Louis was right. Zayn could never know. Zayn would never know.

Louis took a low, shuddering breath and kicked Harry out. Harry cried the whole bus ride home, frustrated with himself and everything he chose to be. He pretended like his tear streak face was due to frustration with his thesis when Zayn asked about his red eyes, and Harry let Zayn fuck him into the mattress as a reward for wrapping up his last semester, like nothing was wrong.

Harry didn't often regret his decisions, but he _hated_ himself for this one.

 

The next day Harry didn't know what to do with himself – he slept fitfully, woke up ridiculously early, cooked Zayn a guilt-inspired breakfast of pancakes, eggs, and bacon, took a line while Zayn was getting ready and then began obsessively cleaning the apartment after Zayn left for work. Harry was just this giant ball of nervous energy, flitting from room to room as he tried to keep his mind occupied, tried to distract himself from the heavy weight in his stomach that threatened to crawl up his throat and manifest itself as those two simple words Zayn never deserved to hear – “I cheated.” And with his best friend. What was _wrong_ with Harry?

Eventually Harry was just feeling so sick with himself that he needed to leave the apartment – needed to escape from the reminder of everything he had with Zayn, everything he had ruined.

As far as Harry's friend group went, Niall Horan usually wasn't the one Harry went to whenever he had something deep to discuss. Liam was generally the best to search out for a good ranting session, primarily because he was patient and endlessly optimistic, always eager to find the positive in any negative situation. However, Harry knew that there was no way he could go to Liam with the news of what he had done. Liam would never understand that it wasn't about sex in this situation – would never understand that Harry turning to Louis, taking advantage of Louis' discontent, was about Harry's own insecurities and not a reflection on anyone else. Fundamentally, Harry understood that Liam would not be able to look at Harry the same way, if Harry told him. Harry knew that on a certain level, Liam still deluded himself into thinking Harry was a good person, but something like  _this_ – it had the potential of destroying Liam's entire perception of Harry. Harry was selfish. He couldn't let Liam look at him any differently. 

Niall though – Niall was the only person in Harry's circle of friends who never judged Harry for his decision to go after Zayn four years ago. Hell, Niall never really  _judged_ Harry, period. Niall always wanted the best for his friends, and if Harry thought that Zayn was a fundamental part of his path to happiness, who was Niall to tell him otherwise? Harry loved Niall for that, for always being so solid, so understanding, so unrelentingly supportive. Not that Niall wouldn't tell Harry when he was being stupid – Niall always warned Harry to be careful, to take care of himself and his own needs first and foremost, to get out of any situation that made him feel unhappy or uncomfortable. It wasn't any fault of Niall's that Harry was so strongly opposed to taking good advice.

Niall would try and understand the situation for Harry's sake. He definitely wouldn't like it, and he probably wouldn't even be nice to Harry about it, but he wouldn't judge. Harry could at least count on that.

Harry took another line just because he thought it would make him feel mildly better and then texted Niall to figure out where he was. Completely unsurprisingly, Niall was taking an early lunch, waiting in line at Chipotle. Harry met up with Niall on campus in front of VLSB, Niall handing Harry a burrito without even looking away from his own. Harry accepted his with a quiet thanks, tearing off the aluminum foil and just kind of staring at his food for a minute.

“Are you rolling or something?” Niall asked. “You look wired as shit, man.”

“I took two bumps before coming over here,” Harry admitted, picking at the tortilla of his burrito. 

Niall frowned. “Have you been doing that often?” Niall and Harry used to do a shit ton of drugs together in freshman year, when Harry was stupidly entranced by the concept of snorting, swallowing, and smoking things that would make his mother cry, had she known. It was also a good distraction – Harry didn't quite know how to deal with his intensifying feelings for Zayn, and fucking Taylor Swift while high on cocaine surprisingly helped him mellow out sometimes. Niall quickly became disenchanted by it all, probably due to his constant exposure to drugs living in a frat, but Harry would be a liar if he didn't say that he really fucking enjoyed an occasional upper. It was one of many flaws that he and Zayn had in common.

“Not really,” Harry replied. “I like it too much and Zayn does, too, so we try not to keep it in the house. I was pissed at him and bought some off Nick. Zayn and I did some of it together a few weeks ago but I was feeling anxious.”

“Taking coke while you're anxious seems like a shitty idea,” Niall remarked.

“Nick has good white, though,” Harry said. “I feel cool as shit. Well, almost.”

“Almost?” Niall finished off his burrito and tossed his aluminum foil into a nearby trash can before digging into his chips and guacamole. 

“I mostly feel like shit,” Harry mumbled. “I really fucked up.”

Niall's frown deepened. “Did something happen? Are you and Zayn fighting again?”

Harry was still picking at his food, thinking that maybe if he stared at his burrito it would be easier to admit to his indiscretion. “I, uh. I slept with Louis.”

Niall stared at Harry. “What.” It wasn't even a question.

“I went over to Louis' house and we were talking and I kissed him and then I gave him a blow job and promised him that I wouldn't ever tell Zayn or Eleanor but I feel so fucking shitty about it. Like I _have_ to tell Zayn.” Harry took a deep breath and shoved a huge bite of burrito into his mouth as he stubbornly avoided Niall's gaze. 

Niall brought his hands together, making a T with them as he shook his head. “Wait, wait, time the fuck out. You hooked up with your fiance's best friend? Bro,  _what the fuck_ ?”

“I didn't mean it!”

“Yes, you clearly did,” Niall argued. “You fucking committed to giving him a bj. It wasn't like a demon possessed you to suck Louis' dick.”

“I regret it!”

“Do you really?” Niall asked shrewdly. “Do you regret betraying your fiance's trust, or was it just a shitty blowjob?”

“Niall – ”

“Sorry, that was mean,” Niall apologized. “But honestly, Harry – the fuck! You have to know that isn't cool!”

“I know it wasn't cool!” Harry exclaimed. “The whole time I was doing it I knew that I was fucking making a mistake. I cried the whole way home afterward and I can't even bear to be in the same room as Zayn because I can't even – I don't even know how to live with myself right now, let alone with him.”

Niall's face crumpled and he turned to look at Harry a bit sideways as he gulped and asked, “Did you sleep with Zayn, right after being with Louis?” Harry couldn't even look up at Niall to confirm it, nodding as he stared resolutely at his lunch. Niall swore colorfully for a long moment. “You're going to have to tell him,” Niall said, pursing his lips as he looked at Harry. “I don't care what you promised Louis – you owe Zayn the truth. I just – you begged him forever to take your relationship seriously and then you just completely shat all over it.”

“I know that,” Harry mumbled. “Don't you think I know this, Niall?”

“Well, I'm pleased to be a reminder,” Niall retorted. “You _deserve_ to feel like shit right now.”

“Some friend you are,” Harry answered darkly.

“Yeah, and I'm a good one because I would never fuck Zayn,” Niall replied. “And that's totally mean and below the belt but what you did was absolutely shitty.”

Harry didn't really have a response to that. Niall glared at him for another few moments before sighing and letting Harry eat some of his tortilla chips.

 

Harry, unsurprisingly, did not feel a whole lot better after hanging out with Niall. It was just – how could Niall be so convinced that telling Zayn would alleviate this heavy weight of guilt? That it would make anything about this situation better? Harry couldn't even explain  _why_ he did it – he supposed there had always been some attraction to Louis there, some curiosity about what would've gone differently if he had pursued Louis instead of Zayn. And Harry liked Louis a lot, admired his relationship with Eleanor and the stable life they had created together, but none of that measured up to how much Harry  _ loved _ Zayn, how obsessed Harry was with Zayn in general. Harry hadn't been lying when he was talking to Zayn's mother about their relationship, what he would do for Zayn. Harry would go to the ends of the Earth for Zayn, would cry and steal and plot and scheme, and had already done awful things in his attempts to keep Zayn by his side. How then could Harry just go and sleep with his best friend?

It made no fucking sense. Harry was so frustrated with himself. He couldn't confess to something he didn't even understand. Zayn would probably just assume he was joking or pulling a stunt, anyway.

And because the universe was cruel, Harry returned to the apartment to the sight of Zayn cooking in the kitchen, Eleanor sitting at the dining room table while Riley played with her toys on the floor.

“Oh, hey there, babe,” Zayn greeted, turning the heat down on the stove to walk over and kiss Harry. “Was wondering where you went.”

“Met up with Niall, figured it was the best time to hang out before he becomes totally swamped with finals,” Harry explained, the lie flowing off his tongue easily as he walked through the kitchen to sit on the floor with Riley. Harry looked up and smiled at Eleanor, asking, “What's up, El?”

Eleanor smiled but her grin was forced, artificial. She didn't look nearly as glamorous as she normally did – her hair pulled back into a very sloppy bun, wearing a thin pink T-shirt, gray sweats and ballet flats, and concealer not entirely hiding the dark bags underneath her eyes. “Just wanted to come see you guys for a few hours. Hang out with the happy engaged couple.”

“Louis know you're here?” Harry asked, looking down as he played with Riley. He hoped he wasn't coming across as fidgety and uncomfortable as he felt inside. “He told me you were in Malibu.”

“When did you talk to Lou?” Zayn inquired, frowning. “I haven't caught up with him in weeks.”

“Yesterday,” Harry replied, chancing a glance at Zayn. “After I dropped off my thesis. You were still working so I just went to hang out with him at the house.”

“Is that where you were? I thought you said you were just having a freak out in Main Stacks?” Zayn asked, his frown deepening as he poked at whatever he was cooking. “How frequently do you two hang out without me? He told me you went over there that day you came in late, too.”

“Zayn, I hardly think you need to worry about Harry and Louis,” Eleanor said with a laugh. Harry's insides were in absolute knots – Zayn was suspicious, Harry could see him putting the pieces together in his head, and yet Eleanor was laughing everything off. How could Eleanor sound so sure – like the idea of Harry and Louis was fucking absurd? And how could Harry do something so fucked up to someone with so much _faith_ in him? “Does Zayn get this jealous over everyone?”

Harry threw Eleanor his most winning grin, saying, “Oh yeah,” and tried to keep himself from bursting into tears while Zayn mumbled something dangerous-sounding underneath his breath.

 

Things came to a head three nights later.

They hadn't had a huge, throw-down, blow-out fight in a really long time and definitely not since they had gotten engaged. Looking back, Harry was itching for one, though. He'd been distant and difficult as he sorted through his own feelings while simultaneously striving to be the best, most perfect fiance ever so that Zayn wouldn't further pick up on the fact that something was wrong, but Zayn was a perceptive asshole, typically knew when Harry was hiding something. So Zayn went digging. And when you go looking, you're bound to find _something_.

Harry was leafing through a recipe book on the dining room table, flipping through pages for something awesome to make for dinner as part of his continued guilt-inspired cuisine, when Zayn walked into the room, throwing a nearly empty bag of cocaine on the table between them.

“Want to explain?” Zayn asked expectantly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Harry shrugged, tried to appear cool, even as he shifted his feet. “I had some.”

“Harry, there was hella in here the last time we were going to get high together,” Zayn said patiently. Harry recognized that tone – it was a ruse to get you to relax, think that Zayn was calm, right before he said something to make you feel like a worthless shit. “And you know I don't like it when you get high by yourself. You only do it when you're feeling off about something, and then it just makes you do weird, stupid shit.”

“I do not.”

“You told me you only used to do coke when you were with Taylor Swift so yeah, I would say that you and cocaine means weird, stupid shit.”

“That's not fair! You get to smoke all day but I'm not allowed a line when I'm stressed?”

Zayn rolled his eyes. “You've finished your thesis and you're taking like four months off. You've got no reason to be stressed about anything.”

Harry hated when Zayn was dismissive about his feelings, as though Zayn was the only one in their relationship who ever worked hard or did anything worthwhile. “I'm stressed about a lot of things,” Harry replied defensively. “Like this fucking engagement.”

Zayn's face closed off almost immediately. It was like watching the gates of a mansion heave shut. “What's so stressful about this engagement, Harry?”

Harry never backpedaled so hard in his _life_ , stuttering out, “No, that's not what I mean – ”

“If you want out you can just say so,” Zayn interrupted. “Nobody's making you stay high all day in order to tolerate me. The door's right there.”

“Zayn, babe, please stop,” Harry said. “That's not what I mean. Not at all. I just – fuck. _Everything_. Like, I had wanted the big wedding and all of that but the more I think about it the more I just want to run off with you and forget that everyone else exists.”

Zayn's expression was still incredibly distant. “Do you.”

“You're not being – ”

“Fair, yeah, yeah, whatever,” Zayn said, grabbing the bag of coke off the table in a huff. “You really like saying that. Because life is just supposed to be extremely easy and convenient for you, even though you do everything in your power to make it as difficult for _me_ as you can. Fuck, you can be such a selfish little child sometimes.”

“Oh wow, your twenty-one year old boyfriend is acting childish!” Harry exclaimed. “Alert the fucking presses, it's not like everyone hasn't already told you that you're basically going to marry a kid. Meanwhile, your mother hangs out with Perrie right before we head down to LA and I'm just supposed to be cool with it? Fuck you! That's not – you can't keep treating me like this. You _can't_.”

“What are you talking about?” Zayn asked, completely baffled. “Fucking Perrie? Seriously? We're on her again? Last I checked, I've been fucking you and not her, so can't you just take a minute to calm down?”

“No, I can't!” Harry scrubbed at his eyes. “I fucking can't. And this is your fault!”

Zayn threw his hands up in the air. “And now I don't even know what you're yelling at me about. Great communications skills, there. Good job.”

Harry didn't even think about it. The guilt was eating him up inside, was propelling him to just confess, to just tell the truth for once. He blurted it all out and immediately felt relieved – “I slept with Louis.”

Zayn actually laughed – despite all of his suspicions and half-formed accusations, when confronted with it, the thought of Harry and Louis together was _laughable_ for him. Preposterous, absolutely ludicrous. Harry lied. He didn't feel relieved – he felt nauseous. “Shut up. No you didn't.”

“Zayn.”

Zayn stopped giggling to himself and really looked at Harry, his eyes skittering across Harry's countenance before his shoulders slumped and he fell back against the kitchen wall. “ _Shit_.”

“No, but, Zayn – it didn't mean anything.” Harry felt like a cliché, the worst type of phony. “I was just. I don't know. I was upset and he was too and I totally took advantage of the situation because I wanted to ruin someone else. It wasn't even about getting off, and it was the grimiest, most emotionally unfulfilling experience I ever had – trying to connect with someone who discarded me like I didn't mean anything, because I _didn't_. I felt so worthless afterward and I know now – I don't want something that's some charade of perfection like Lou and El. I just want _you_. Forever, babe.”

“Oh, do you?” Zayn was vibrating where he was leaning against the wall, his anger so intensely physical that Harry could feel himself getting a bit off on it, wasn't even sure whether he was more upset or aroused in this moment. “Do you really, Harry? It's like – like you're punishing me for things I didn't even _do to you_.”

“I'm not – ”

“Yes, you are!” Zayn took a deep breath, burying his face in his hands. “Just – stop denying it, all right? I know that I fucked up with Perrie, I know I did everything wrong with her. But if there's one good thing that came out of that relationship, out of nine fucking years wasted together, it was meeting _you_ , and like, I'm not making those mistakes with you. I haven't because I fucking _refuse_ to.” Zayn paused, biting at his bottom lip relentlessly, combing long, trembling fingers through his hair as he stood up and paced. “Why can't you see it, babe? You're fucking _everything_ to me, Harry, you have been ever since you first walked into that lecture and sat down next to me. I knew from that moment that I was fucked, that I was head over heels, and that's why I was so fucking resistant to being honest with you from jump – it hurt too much for me to think about how easily you were able to break through my defenses, how easily you insinuated yourself in every fucking nook and cranny of my life. But babe, you can't continue to preemptively punish me like this! You've got to _trust_ me. You can't think that manipulating people into doing what you want is the way to build a relationship – and you can't fucking drag _my best friend_ into what we have. We just talked about this!”

“Trust you?” Harry repeated. “Trust you? You've never given me anything to latch onto trust-wise, Zayn! Every fucking thing you've _given_ me in this relationship I've had to manipulate you into doing.”

“That's not true – ”

“It's not? Really, Zayn? You would've _married_ Perrie if Louis hadn't told me to come and fight for you that day, if I hadn't tried to reason with you and given up, if I hadn't walked down the stairs, if she hadn't come in at that moment and seen me. I should fucking invite her to the wedding, make her my Best Man for handing you over to me that day.”

Harry had never brought it up before – the day Zayn and Perrie's relationship spontaneously combusted. It was an element of their past that had become strictly off limits in conversation. Harry still couldn't bear to think about it most of the time – those few minutes where he knew that he had lost Zayn, walking down the stairs of Louis' house, knowing that Zayn had  _chosen_ Perrie, had elected for what was easy as opposed to what was right, what would honestly make him happy, make them  _both_ happy. The  _pain_ of it all – Harry had never really been heartbroken before, but it didn't feel right to call it a simple breaking of the heart, clean and simplistic, not when the discomfort was manifesting itself everywhere – a headache behind Harry's eyes, claws drawing tight on the air in his lungs, numbness in his fingertips, nausea, a dull ache in his bones that had the possibility of becoming debilitating – all of that combined with a tight chest pain that felt like it would never leave. Heartbreak – people deal with that. It takes time, but it's doable. Thinking that Harry had lost Zayn – that hurt far worse. Harry never would've gotten over it. Never did. 

It was just – knowing that he wasn't Zayn's first choice was too much to honestly process. So he didn't. He hadn't. Because Perrie had forced Zayn's hand, had essentially threw them together, had left Zayn reeling so he clung to the one person who was willing to put the pieces back together. Harry wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth, not when he was given the opportunity to help reassemble Zayn in a way that would bind him to Harry forever. Zayn had stayed. Harry ultimately got what he wanted. 

Didn't mean Harry wasn't still bitter about it, though, even two years out.

Zayn looked at Harry in disbelief, shook his head slowly, whispered, “You can't possibly believe that I wouldn't have chosen you.”

“You _didn't_ , Zayn. You didn't.” Harry's face crumpled and he laid his head against the cool surface, forcing back tears. “You didn't.”

“I left with you, Harry,” Zayn said, striding over to Harry and taking Harry's hands in his own, pressing them to his lips. “I didn't stay and try and smooth things over. I realized there was nothing to save. I left with you and I've never, ever looked back.”

“I don't believe you,” Harry replied, his voice thick with the tears he was so desperately trying to restrain. “I just – I don't, Zayn. Cutting your losses – that's nothing like actively choosing me.”

Zayn reached up, pushed Harry's curls out of his face, his own countenance a portrait of sadness. “Harry, that's not true. You can't possibly believe that I don't love you to the end of the world and back.”

“It is true, and that's why I've never brought it up,” Harry mumbled. “I just – God. I know I've always been second choice. I know you are just clinging to me because I'm what's easy now, what's convenient – ”

“What about you has ever been easy or convenient, Harry?” Zayn yelled. “What is easy or convenient about this moment right the fuck now? I fucking _love_ you. You, Harry Edward Styles – the most frustrating person I have ever met. You are my _only_ choice. I saved up for two years to get you that ring, from the day you came back to me after that dumbass stunt you pulled with Nick and I realized there was no way I could ever live without you. I want to marry you and the thought of having you forever is so fucking exhilarating I don't know what to do with myself.”

“Even now?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Zayn said, cupping Harry's face. “Especially now. I can't – I didn't know you were so unhappy, Harry. I fucking promise that I will never let things get this bad again. We need to talk, right, babe? We do. _I_ do.”

Harry's eyes darted between each of Zayn's, searching out for anything that could possibly be untrue. “Would it.” Harry paused, licked his lips. “How much will our families hate us if we just go down to city hall and then bunk off to Vegas?”

Zayn shrugged, laughed shakily. “They've got to be expecting it at this point.”

“I'm so, so, so fucking sorry, Zayn,” Harry said, reaching out and catching Zayn's bottom lip with his thumb. “I can't – the idea of hurting you – ”

“Only turns you on, yeah?” Zayn joked half-heartedly, sucking Harry's thumb into his mouth. “I'm furious, but we'll work through this. We'll find a way. We always do.”

“I feel like there's another 'but' here,” Harry said.

“But I _really_ don't want to look at you right now,” Zayn mumbled, pushing himself away from Harry and walking over to the kitchen counter, ducking his head so that his hair fell into his face. His arms were still where he was bracing himself against the counter top, but his shoulders were shaking with the effort of it. “I honestly can't tell which of you I'm more upset with. With _Louis_ , really?”

“Zayn – ”

“No, shut up, you got your emotional unloading out, now it's time for mine,” Zayn interrupted. “Who the _fuck_ do you think you are? I propose to you and then you fuck my best friend?”

Harry felt like the entire universe was slipping through his fingertips. “Babe – ”

“No, fuck you, Harry,” Zayn hissed. “I don't care what your rational is for it.” Zayn stopped and smiled at Harry, his grin cruel and sharp. “Remember when Liam used to live here? One time you were out somewhere – can't fucking remember now. Maybe with Nick? Liam was coming out of the shower, had his towel hanging really low. He adjusted himself a bit as he walked into the kitchen. Got myself a nice, long look.”

It felt like a weight dropped into the pit of Harry's stomach. “You didn't. ”

Zayn shook his head. “I didn't, but I  _wanted_ to. I could've – it would've been  _so easy_ to manipulate him into doing it. And he never would've told you – he's a good friend and the guilt would've eaten him up, but he never would've said a word. You wouldn't have found out unless I wanted you to. And maybe, in retrospect, I should've just gone for it, huh? This would've been the best time to throw it into your face. But I didn't, even though I wanted to, even though it would've been easy, even though I probably would've gotten a lot of satisfaction out of it, because  _I fucking love you_ and I never wanted you to think that I was just going to cheat on you with any and every fucking body. Never wanted you to have any reason to think you were anything less than the moon, the stars – the whole fucking universe.”

Harry shook his head, tears falling freely down his cheeks. “Zayn, honestly – ”

“Get the fuck out,” Zayn said, rolling his eyes and gesturing towards the door. “Honestly, take a bag, pack some shit. Maybe I'll be less angry in a few days. More than likely I won't be. But I need some fucking space. Just _leave_.”

Harry angrily wiped away the tears that had begun falling down his cheeks. “You  _just_ – ”

“Harry, you slept with my best friend,” Zayn intoned. He had completely shut himself off again, hazel eyes cold and blank, and it scared Harry more than his anger ever could. “You slept with my best friend and tried to put it all on me. At least Louis had the decency to pretend like it never happened. He has enough self-preservation for that. Fuck you for thinking you're doing me a favor by telling me. Go.”

Harry got up slowly, walking into the bedroom to throw his phone charger, a few pairs of shirts and some underwear into his backpack. Zayn was sitting in the living room with his head in between his hands when Harry walked back out, a bottle of Grey Goose at his feet and his cell phone lying on the table in front of him. Harry knew Zayn was debating with himself over whether he should call Louis and confront him.

Harry choked out, “Can't we just – ”

“What part of 'leave' is so difficult to understand?” Zayn mumbled. “Get the fuck out before I do something we both regret.”

Harry closed the front door behind him and rested his forehead against the cold wood once he was outside of the apartment. He didn't have the slightest idea where he should go.

 

Ultimately, Harry ended up outside of Acacia, the fraternity Niall lived at. A few of the brothers were sitting on the porch sharing a blunt and they called to Harry on the street before letting him in, too high to take in or question Harry's tear streaked face or his red eyes.

Thankfully Niall was the only one in his room when Harry knocked, Justin Timberlake streaming out from his door. Niall took one look at Harry and immediately pulled out a bottle of Jack from underneath his bed, offering it to Harry wordlessly as he locked the door behind them and texted his roommate to give them some space.

“I told him,” Harry said around a mouthful of whiskey. “I told Zayn – what I did – and he kicked me out.”

“Do you feel better now that you've told him?” Niall asked gently, turning his music down slightly to better hear Harry. 

“I did in the moment,” Harry mumbled. “But like – now he _hates_ me. And I ruined his friendship with Louis. So. I feel like shit. What if he doesn't want to be with me anymore?”

“Is that what he said?”

Harry shrugged. “No. I mean – I don't know. He could change his mind. Call off the engagement. Kick me out permanently.”

Niall nodded and sighed, spinning around in his desk chair as he screwed his face up in thought. “What would you do, if you were in his shoes? If he slept with Liam or something?”

Harry laughed, rubbing his eyes as he tipped his head back. “He actually told me that he thought about it once – that he wanted to sleep with Liam. How easy it would be. But that he didn't because he loved me.”

“You do realize that he might have said that just to wind you up,” Niall pointed out. “I've seen the way he interacts with Liam when you're not around as the friend buffer. He likes Liam enough but clearly thinks Liam is stupid. Zayn is kind of a stuck-up snob about certain things – no offense. Plus Liam is like, super straight. I don't think there's anything there. But that's besides the point! If Liam and Zayn had hypothetically hooked up, how would you react? Who would you be more upset with?”

Harry shrugged. “I don't know! How is this supposed to be helping me?”  
Niall leaned forward and pointed at Harry. “I am trying to give you a lesson in empathy, Harry Styles. You did something shitty and you are really only feeling bad for yourself. So play the fuck along. I don't feel sorry for you in the least.”

Harry threw his hands up. “I'd be pissed at both of them, okay? Pissed and confused. I would be so mad I wouldn't even know what to do with myself.”

“But you'd be more upset with one of them, wouldn't you?” Niall pushed. “Because on one level you wouldn't be surprised with one of them doing something like that, right?”

Harry chewed the inside of his cheek. “Yeah, I – I guess I wouldn't be surprised if Zayn slept with one of my friends. I – fuck. I've been expecting him to go back to Perrie for two years. At least Liam isn't her.”

Niall nodded to himself. “So you'd be more upset with Liam, then.” Harry bit his lip and nodded slowly. “Now, just think about you, Zayn, and Louis. Zayn's probably  _not surprised_ that you did something like this on one level – I'm sorry, it really sucks to say this to you, Harry, but it's true. You were sleeping with Taylor and Zayn at the same time and you were shitty to both of them – again, no offense – and the way that you're paranoid that he can always go back to Perrie, Zayn's probably always thought that at some point you would leave him for someone else, someone younger and richer, probably. I don't know what Zayn's most insecure about. So he's upset with you, I'm sure, but I do also think that he had resigned himself to something like this inevitably happening and he'll actually kind of excuse your behavior to some degree so long as you stay with him since he loves you so much. Who he's really fucking pissed with, though, is Louis.”

Harry frowned. “How can you be so sure?”

“Louis and Zayn have been friends since what – middle school?” Niall said with a shrug. “I'm pissed at Louis and I'm not even, like, involved here. Louis should've fucking _known better_.”

“Zayn shouldn't be more upset with Louis, though,” Harry murmured. “ _I_ was the one who initiated everything – Louis just went along with it. He wasn't even thinking about me when it was happening. I was the one who kept running to him whenever things were going on with Zayn and I – it was completely a one-sided emotional affair that I took advantage of when Louis was feeling vulnerable.”

“Should've thought about how their friendship would've been affected before you decided to suck Louis' dick,” Niall replied brusquely. “Zayn is never going to get over this, you do know that? Like, I think he'll pretend to forgive both of you down the road and I'm sure he wants to get to a point where he can joke about it – fuck, maybe he'll even legitimately think that he'll have forgiven you two at some point down the road, but he'll throw it into your faces whenever it's convenient. 'Oh, you want to talk about a baby, Harry? Maybe you should've gone shopping for nappies instead of blowing Louis' dick!'” Niall shrugged. “I can't even blame him. I'd probably do the same thing.”

Harry shook his head, a fresh set of tears falling down his face. “I fucked up so badly.”

“Yeah,” Niall agreed, not unkindly. “You going to need to stay here for a few days, then?”

“No, I'm not going to disturb you during dead week,” Harry said, wiping at his eyes. “I just want to spend the night, if that's okay? I was going to get my car while he's lecturing tomorrow and then drive back to my mom's. I don't have any reason to be on campus right now, and he'll know where to find me if he wants to.”

Niall smiled and rubbed his hand through Harry's hair. “You'll find a way to work through all of this – for better or worse, all that shit. But you can't  _ever_ do anything like this again. It's so fucking unfair to him and to yourself. He really does love you, I know he does – maybe one day you'll realize it, too.” Niall patted Harry on the shoulder and meandered into the hallway in search of an extra comforter. Harry waited for him to return, turned his phone off, and slept without dreaming.

 

Harry was already back at his mom's house, petulantly avoiding his parents, charging his phone and stubbornly giving Zayn his space, when he received a phone call from Louis. Harry battled internally, trying to convince himself not to answer it, but he picked it up anyway. “You need to tell your fiance to stop being a dick,” Louis hissed immediately, not even giving Harry time to say “Hello.”

“What?” Harry asked, absolutely bewildered. “What happened?”

“You know what happened, Harry, stop playing around.” Louis sounded absolutely frazzled and Harry found it extremely unnerving. Guilt coursed thick and hot through Harry's veins but he pushed it down, tried to concentrate on what Louis was saying. “I know you told Zayn _something_. He came to my office and yelled at me for half an hour without letting me get a single word in before threatening me and storming off. It's not often that I'm afraid of Zayn – not since he beat up this bully in tenth grade and that was an impressed sort of afraid – but I was fucking terrified, okay? _Fix this_. This is your fault, Harry. Say you were making shit up – trying to make him jealous. I don't know.”

“You didn't tell him anything?” Harry clarified. “Did you just – what, did you deny it?”

“I told him you kissed me,” Louis said. “It's not a lie. I'm not going to tell him you gave me a blowjob. Do you think I have a death wish? It's bad enough that I let it happen – I don't need Zayn to _know_ that it did. He'd fucking kill me.”

Harry huffed out a breath, ran his fingers through his hair. “I did tell him that we slept together,” Harry admitted. “We were fighting and I just – I blurted it out.”

There was a very long silence. Harry actually thought he dropped the call.

“You _fucking_ idiot,” Louis cursed and then the line went dead. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How mad are you about this chapter on a scale from 1 to 10


	4. Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry was absolutely miserable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Frida for being the best beta I could ever ask for. Also thank you to Emily for always pushing me. And thanks to all of you for reading.

Harry hadn't talked to Zayn in something like two weeks. He was still wearing his ring, obsessively twirling the band around his finger and wishing Zayn and Harry were spending Christmas together, wishing that things had gone differently, that Harry had made different choices. Wishing that he hadn't fucked up, that he had opted for happiness instead of falling back on his usual emotional masochism.

His family tried to get the story out of him, but without any luck. Harry's mother wasn't stupid – she obviously knew something was up, knew that something had happened, what with Harry coming over to the house out of the blue, a convenient if flimsy lie already on his tongue. Knew that something was wrong when Harry just shrugged when she asked where Zayn was. But ultimately she knew that she had to give Harry his space when he threw his week's worth of clothes down onto the bed before flinging himself across the mattress as well.

Harry honestly had no idea where the fuck Zayn was – hoped he was with his sisters, working through his own emotions, slowly coming to the realization that Harry loved Zayn more than Harry even fucking loved himself, and ideally he would be calling Harry soon, saying that maybe everything wasn't forgiven but it could be, one day.

And Harry knew that his mother wasn't trying to gloat, wasn't trying to rub it in that “mommy knows best” and that she knew that it wouldn't be all sunshine and butterflies – that people made mistakes, that they hurt each other, that they were occasionally self-destructive and self-sabotaging in the worst possible way. Harry just couldn't talk to her about it, didn't want to – how do you even tell your mom about something as fucked up as this anyway?

By the time Christmas rolled around, Harry was absolutely miserable. His grades were already posted online – straight A's for the semester, guaranteeing his graduation with honors – and like, Harry should've been ecstatic. Should have shaken Zayn awake with the news, Zayn smiling at him and kissing him long and slow, before rewarding Harry for his hard work.

Instead it was Christmas and Harry was in a house full of family, but he had never felt so fucking alone.

Harry was sulking in his bedroom, watching holiday-themed cartoons and dreading the big Christmas day lunch that his mother would be putting on in a few hours, when he heard a knock at his door.

“Go 'way!” Harry called uselessly as his older sister, Gemma, came in and jumped onto Harry's bed, crawling all over the comforter before settling underneath the covers next to Harry. Gemma had been living in New York ever since high school, but pretty quickly became a casualty of the dog-eat-dog, fast paced scene she had once loved. She signed up for a sugar daddy website as a dare, was matched up with a very successful daddy who lived in Marin County, and moved back to California. Their parents were entirely baffled by this turn of events, but tried to be supportive. Consequently, Harry had hardly seen Gemma during the past two weeks he had been staying at his parents' – Gemma was too busy being treated by her daddy to actually stay in the house for more than an hour at a time.

“Merry Christmas, pretty boy,” she said, leaning over and planting an obnoxiously wet kiss on Harry's cheek. Harry pouted at her before smiling, small and familiar, and leaning over to kiss her on the forehead.

“Merry Christmas, cupcake,” he answered. “Is everyone over yet?”

“Nah,” Gemma answered, snuggling into Harry's side and letting her eyes drift over to the television. “That why you're hiding out in the room? Don't want to deal with Auntie Meryl?”

Harry shrugged. “I guess.”

Gemma yawned. “I think you have a few more hours before you have to trot out like a show dog.”

“Cool,” Harry mumbled before grinning at Gemma slyly. “Did you invite your daddy over for dinner?”

Gemma reached behind her head for a pillow, hitting Harry in the face with it. “You snarky little brat,” Gemma said fondly. “I did  _not_ , thank you. He flew out to Montana to visit his children but he'll be back later on tonight. I could ask the same for you, you know.”

“What?”

“Don't play dumb, we both know you call Zayn 'Daddy' when nobody else is around,” Gemma answered with a small, knowing smile on her face. “Where is he? And let me get a nice long gawk at your ring – yes, thank you.”

Harry's own grin slipped off his face. “I haven't talked to him since I finished up my thesis.”

Gemma frowned. “You two fighting again?”

“Something like that.”

Gemma's frown transformed into a grimace. “What happened?” Harry just shook his head and slunk further under the covers, struck with the pressing urge to hide. “Did he do something stupid or was it you?”

“Gemma – ”

Gemma stared at Harry, her eyes flitting between Harry's before sighing. “You cheated on him, didn't you?” Harry groaned and flipped over so that his face was in the pillows. “You  _did?_ God, Harry. Did he find out – ?”

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, pulling on the strands to ground him. “I told him. I was – I knew it was a mistake and I just felt so guilty about it. I  _had_ to tell him.”

“You're fucking stupid,” Gemma said, her tone uncharacteristically sharp and cutting. “You're not doing someone _a favor_ by telling them you cheated. You keep that bullshit to yourself – it's fucking selfish to do otherwise.”

“That thought has surprisingly crossed my mind since I've told him, thanks, Gem.”

Gemma leaned her head back against her own pillows, scoffing, before her gaze softened. Her voice was low and pitying when she asked, “Have you told Mom? That's why you've been staying here, right? You and Zayn must be taking a break.”

Harry shrugged. “I didn't. I just – I can't tell her that I cheated on my fiance when I made such a big fuss about how much he means to me and how we're perfect for each other. I still don't even really know  _why_ I did it in the first place, Gem.”

“You can be perfect for someone and still make mistakes with them,” Gemma replied delicately. “Cheating – it's a huge thing to get over, I'm not trying to minimize that at all. But with Zayn – I don't think it'll be a deal breaker. He loves you too much.”

Harry laughed hollowly. “What if I told you that I cheated with his best friend?”

“Fucking hell, Harry,” Gemma mumbled, leaning over to smack Harry's face several times. “You deserve to be dumped. There. Happy now?”

Harry buried his head underneath his comforter and gave into the recurring urge to scream.

 

Christmas lunch was shit. The entire family kept trying to ask Harry a million and one questions and he just kept telling the same story over and over – “Yes, I'm engaged” when he didn't even fucking know where he and Zayn stood, and “No, we decided to be with our own families for the holidays” when Harry actually had no idea where Zayn  _was_ , if he even was in Southern California or not, with “No, we haven't set a date” being the only truthful statement he could fall back on. It was awful, pasting on this superficial smile when Gemma kept throwing him sad and sympathetic looks from across the table and just – Harry didn't want to deal with it. So he accepted his presents – cards stuffed with money, mostly – and made his way back to his room when it was late enough to reasonably slink away, family crammed into the den to watch Christmas basketball games, kids running around out back, and Gemma and his mother enjoying a well-deserved bottle of Rosé in the kitchen. Harry locked the door behind him, shedding clothes on his way to the bed, and fell asleep before he even realized how exhausted he was.

 

Harry woke up and it was dark and softly raining outside, the entire house still in a way that let him know it was late without having to glance at the clock on his bedside table. His phone was on the bed next to him, lit up and blaring Emeli Sandé. Harry frowned and reached across to grab it, swiping across the screen to answer the call, hoping to God he wasn't still dreaming. “Zayn?”

“I was going to throw rocks at your window but the only ones your parents have out here look big enough to smash the whole thing open.” Zayn's voice was calm and cool on the other side of the line, achingly familiar. Harry had fucking missed hearing Zayn so much he wanted to cry. “Not to mention I don't even know which room you're bunked in. So. I decided to call you instead.”

“Fuck, _babe_ ,” Harry said, pulling his legs up to his chest and resting his chin on his knees. His voice was already sounding thick to his own ears, the urge to cry growing stronger and more insistent with every passing moment. “ _God_ , Zayn, I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Zayn replied simply. “I'm furious with you, but I missed you too much. Which is why I'm standing outside your parents' house in the rain. Can you let me in? My hair's getting all messed up.”

“Oh, yeah, just – fuck. Hold on a minute.” Harry stood up, grabbing his underwear and T-shirt from where he had discarded them earlier, pulling them both on quickly before picking up his phone again and hanging up. He unlocked his bedroom door and made his way down the hallway, mentally making note of the fact that Gemma's door was wide open but she was not in her bed, and quietly padding down the stairs. Harry could make out Zayn's figure on the doorstep through the window on the side of the front door, and Harry took a deep breath before disabling their alarm and opening the door. Zayn turned to face Harry and he was just – fuck. He was just so _beautiful_ , as if Harry could ever forget. He was wearing his favorite leather jacket over a plain gray hoodie, and yeah, his hair was a bit fucked up from the rain, his quiff deflated on one side, and yeah, he had dark circles underneath his eyes that were only emphasized by his large glasses frames, and yeah all of that was probably (definitely) Harry's fault but, like – Harry was so fucking _stupid_. How could he ever think he could have a fleeting moment with anyone else?

Zayn made a small, needy sound before surging forward, wrapping his hands around the back of Harry's neck and bringing him in for a kiss. Zayn's face was wet from the rain but Harry didn't care, opening his mouth greedily, licking and sucking around Zayn's tongue, sighing and relaxing as Zayn's hands began to wander, gliding from Harry's neck down to cup at his ass. Zayn broke away, lips wet and full, but his eyes were intense as he stared at Harry, hands still gripping at Harry through his boxers.

“I'm _so_ pissed at you,” Zayn mumbled. “And I'll never really forgive you for this, even though I think we can like, move forward. I just want you to know that.”

“I do,” Harry responded. “You have every right to be upset and like – I get it.”

“You don't need to keep testing this – testing _us_. I'm right here.” Zayn brought his hand forward to press at Harry's chest through his thin T-shirt, right over where Harry's heart was beating a hymn through his skin. “Even when I'm not standing right next to you, I'm _right here_.” 

Harry gulped and nodded and Zayn mimicked his gesture before letting go of Harry and brushing past him to walk into the house. Harry went to close the front door behind him, but not before noticing a car making a U-turn at the end of the block and speeding away. Harry frowned, shutting the door and switching the alarm back on, before turning back to Zayn, who was already halfway up the stairs.

“Which one is unofficially yours again?” Zayn called softly as he made his way to the second level. 

“Make a left, and then the one all the way at the end of the hallway,” Harry whispered, taking the stairs two at a time to catch up to Zayn and then snaking his arms around Zayn's waist once he did, pulling Zayn in close and inhaling his scent. Cigarettes. Rain. A light undercurrent of marijuana. Gucci by Gucci. All so familiar, all so undeniably Zayn. Harry sighed into Zayn's neck as they walked down the hallway, Zayn tapping against Harry's hands and grinning at Harry shyly over his shoulder. Harry pushed his bedroom door open once they reached it, Zayn tsking at the messiness and clutter before mumbling, “Our apartment doesn't look much better right now, actually.”

Harry ruefully let go of Zayn, locking the door and taking off his clothes again. Zayn watched Harry strip with hungry eyes before doing the same, dropping his leather jacket to the ground, then his hoodie and a flimsy gray tank top, and finally his jeans and underwear, crawling onto Harry's bed and gesturing for Harry to come to him, letting his arm linger in the air until Harry caught his hand and linked their fingers together. Zayn made a small, content noise and brought Harry's hand to his chest, grinning and rubbing his thumb over Harry's ring finger before mumbling, “You're still wearing it. The ring.”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

Zayn shrugged. “Dunno. Part of me thought – I don't know.”

Harry scoffed even though he didn't mean to. “Zayn. You can't possibly think – ”

“Well, I also didn't ever think you were capable of sleeping with _Louis_ ,” Zayn spat. “Or maybe I did. I don't know. You're capable of anything if you can convince yourself that it makes sense in the moment. I guess I just assumed he wasn't capable of humoring you.”

“It really didn't mean anything,” Harry protested even though he knew it was a flimsy, stupid thing to say.

“You keep telling me that as though it's supposed to make me feel better,” Zayn said, even as he pulled Harry closer to him. Harry let him and sat on the bed in between Zayn's thighs, their hands still entwined. “If it was so meaningless, why did you tell me?”

“I felt bad about it.”

“And how do you think _I_ feel?” 

Harry sighed, shrugging. “I talked to Gemma about it and she said that I shouldn't have told you. But Niall – I don't know. He said that it was important that you know, told me I needed to be honest with you, and I think he's right, too. Louis – he really did make me promise not to tell you, though, so it's all on me.”

Zayn rolled his eyes at the mention of Louis' name. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

“What do you mean?”

Zayn laughed hollowly. “How do you think I fucking  _got_ here, Harry? I don't have a car, it's three o'clock in the morning on the day after Christmas – it's not like BART and buses are running. I asked Louis for a ride.” 

Harry gaped at Zayn. “You've been avoiding me but you're still hanging out with Louis?”

Zayn stared at Harry, furrowing his brow before rolling his eyes once more. “Are you even fucking listening? That's  _not_ what I said. I went to yell at him the day after you told me. It wasn't one of my proudest moments – I said some really fucked up things, told him I'd cut his dick off and hand deliver it to Berkeley P.D. if I caught him so much as thinking about texting you, but whatever. I was upset and he deserved it – kept trying to lie to me as if I'm stupid. Then he was texting and calling me like clockwork, and two days ago I agreed to meet up with him so he would just shut the fuck up.” Zayn pursed his lips, his anger crackling off of him in waves. “He finally owned up to it, and he's very  _apologetic_ , of course. He's just  _so sorry_ , it didn't mean anything, he was upset with Eleanor and you were there, he's never even  _looked_ at you like that before and it won't ever happen again, blah blah blah. And of course, he made you promise not to tell, and that was going to be the end of it, but you had to open your big mouth and make a mess of things because you're a petulant child who loves attention.”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek, suddenly furious with Louis. A petulant child – really? “He said that?”

Zayn grinned. “Oh yeah.”

Harry nodded. “Okay. Noted. So – that's that? All's forgiven in the happy land of Zayn and Louis now that he copped to doing it?”

“ _Of course not_ , have you forgotten everything about me in the past two weeks?” Zayn asked. “Why would I fucking forgive him for laying back and letting you suck him off? How would that ever be something I would be all right with – and in the course of a few days? _Seriously_ , Harry? Remember how pissed I got when I realized you guys were even friends? And how crazy the two of you made me feel for it? My sixth fucking sense was on target there, though, wasn't it?” Zayn let go of Harry's hand, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against Harry's headboard. “No, fuck forgive and forget. I acknowledge that it happened since you didn't give me the option of living in blissful fucking ignorance but I will _never_ forgive either of you for it, and I won't _ever_ forget that it happened. 

“I fucking love you to death, Harry. You've got to know that at this point – because with anyone else this would be the end of the road. But I honestly can't live without you, it's my fucking fatal character flaw, all right? The fact that I am willing to stay with you despite this – that I never even _contemplated_ leaving you, because I didn't. And Louis is my best friend – he was always there for me, through all of the shit with Justin and then with Perrie, and he never judged me when I made mistake after mistake. But I won't sit here and pretend like this doesn't change the way I look at him. Like it hasn't made me reevaluate everything – how long has he been waiting for the opportunity to get in your mouth while I sat around talking you up to him?” Zayn shook himself, rubbing his hand over his forehead and taking a deep breath. “I also won't pretend like I didn't guilt him into giving me a ride over here, like I'm not going to hang this over his head. I called Niall to check that this was where you were, but it's not like it's easy to get out here. Louis was my only option and I wanted the opportunity to unnerve him a bit more. And I _like_ it – I like that he feels so shitty about this but can't do anything – can't make it up to me because there's _nothing he can do_. I felt so powerless when you told me – and now he can feel that way, too. And I'm glad that he didn't tell Eleanor, because I can hold that over him as well. A better person would find a way to get over this, but I'm _not_ a good person. And he should've remembered that before he ever did _anything_ with you.”

Harry shivered under Zayn's gaze and looked down at his comforter, pulling on a loose bit of thread. “So why are you here? To make me feel like shit? Because I already do.”

“Because I missed you,” Zayn simply stated. “Is that so fucking hard to believe? I didn't want to spend another moment without you. Yelling at you is just a special bonus. I know you've missed me, too.”

“Yeah.”

“I'm yours, all right?' Zayn whispered, uncrossing his arms and laying his hands down between them on the bed. “I'm yours, and you're mine. That's how it goes.”

“I'm always yours,” Harry replied, his throat closing around a sob. “I'm always fucking yours, Zayn. And I don't even deserve to have you.”

“Well, yeah,” Zayn agreed. “But I take you as you are. Even when it breaks my heart – I take you as you are. I just hope you come to understand that you don't need to smash my heart into pieces in order to prove to yourself that all of the scraps were yours to break.” Harry nodded, wiping at the tears that had fallen down his cheeks, and Zayn sighed, slipping further down the bed and grabbing at Harry's ankles with a small, “C'mere.” Harry crawled up the bed and laid his head on Zayn's chest, maneuvering his ear until he could hear the steady thrum of Zayn's heartbeat. Zayn carded his fingers through Harry's curls, pressing a kiss to Harry's forehead before reaching down to slot their fingers together, humming something soft and soothing that Harry didn't recognize. They fell asleep on top of the covers, Harry's curls pillowed across Zayn's chest, hands still entwined.

 

Harry woke up to the sound of knocking at his bedroom door. “Harry?” his mother called softly. “Harry, love, are you awake?”

“Yeah, I'm up, I'm up,” Harry croaked, rolling over and off of Zayn's body. They were both still nude, and Harry was suddenly cold without Zayn's body heat to keep him warm. Zayn choked out a needy groan in his sleep and curled into himself, burying his face into the pillow. Harry watched him with a pulling in his own chest before tumbling off the bed and grabbing a pair of underwear off the ground – he didn't even know whose. He walked over to the door and unlocked it, stepping into the hallway and closing it softly behind him. Harry's mother stood before him, smartly dressed in a festive red dress and pumps, her chestnut hair pulled back into a loose bun. 

“Do you have someone in your room?” she asked shrewdly, crossing her arms over her chest. “ _Harry_.”

“It's just Zayn,” Harry replied defensively. “I wouldn't – well. He came over during the night.”

His mother sighed, closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “Honestly, at this point, I don't even want to know. I'm glad the two of you aren't fighting anymore, at least. But love, you've got to understand that I just want the best for you.”

“I don't need advice,” Harry answered, his guard still up. “It'd be a waste of your time, anyway, because I'm always going to do whatever I want, regardless of what you tell me.”

She nodded, resigned. “Well, we're going out to visit more family – I assumed you didn't want to come. Are you going to be here when I get back?”

“Probably not.”

His mother pursed her lips but her countenance softened when she snaked an arm out to stroke at Harry's face. “I understand, baby. Are things better between the two of you, then? Talked through everything?”

Harry smiled and for what felt like the first time in ages, it was genuine. “It will be.”

 

Harry drove Zayn and himself back home, but over the next few days, they didn't really talk about things, although the truth still hung between them, heavy and condemning. Sometimes Zayn looked at Harry and Harry knew that all Zayn could see was Harry's shame, and sometimes Harry would feel so disgusted with himself he would go sit alone in the guest bedroom and cry. Harry knew that Zayn hadn't been lying when he said he didn't think he could ever get over it, but Harry didn't know what that really  _meant_ . Did it mean that the small modicum of trust that had been built up between them was irrevocably destroyed? Did it mean that Zayn got a free pass and Harry was just supposed to swallow down his own jealousy? Was Harry supposed to take Louis out of his phone, never talk to him again? What would this spell for their engagement, for their plans of getting a new apartment, for their wedding and marriage? Zayn said he loved Harry but did it even matter anymore? Would it actually be better if the two of them cut their losses here and broke up?

Harry honestly didn't understand how he was able to take something he had wanted for  _so long_ and completely ruin it for himself. And he couldn't even talk to anyone about it – Louis could never be Harry's confidant again, Liam didn't know,  _couldn't_ know, and Niall and Gemma were both incapable of not making Harry feel like shit about the whole thing – which yeah, he knew he deserved it, but at the same time he wanted someone to hold his hand and stroke his head and tell him everything would inevitably be all right, that this was just a rough patch and one day he would look back and think how all of this strife just made him stronger. 

Harry tried to make it up to Zayn, even though he knew that was honestly a pointless endeavor. One, because there was nothing Harry could do that would ever be enough, and two, because Harry really only knew how to apologize in a handful of ways. One was with food. Another was with sex. And now when Zayn complimented Harry on how good he was, there was always the one question Zayn couldn't quite bring himself to ask looming between them – “Were you this good for Louis, too?”

It was the most fucked up situation. Harry hoped that it would all come to a head or something.

 

Harry and Zayn decided to stay in for New Year's Eve instead of going over to Louis and Eleanor's for their annual party, for obvious reasons. Harry lied and told Eleanor that both he and Zayn were sick and quashed down the feeling of guilt at her genuine dismay. “We'll have to get lunch sometime soon then,” Eleanor said over the phone while Riley yelled in the background. Riley  _always_ seemed to be screaming in the background these days. “Or go to a pub quiz! There's this cool place on Telegraph that Louis and I have been thinking about checking out – ”

“That sounds fun, yeah,” Harry said, fidgeting under Zayn's thoughtful gaze. “Just give Zayn and I the time and place and we'll definitely try to make it.”

“Okay, lovebirds,” Eleanor chirped. “Can't wait! Talk to you later – need to start getting ready for tonight.”

“Later, El,” Harry sighed, hanging up the phone and placing it on the kitchen counter before turning to look at Zayn, who was sitting at the dining room table. “What?”

“Watching you pretend to feel guilty is kind of hilarious,” Zayn said with a shrug. 

“I'm not _pretending_ to feel guilty,” Harry replied as calmly as he could. “I feel like absolute shit, Zayn. You _know_ that.”

Zayn hummed and stood, crowding around Harry and slotting his thighs in between Harry's. “Wanna know something?” Harry shrugged, resolutely avoiding Zayn's gaze. “I noticed you changed your phone passcode, but I was able to crack it easy enough. Step your game up, babe.”

Harry pursed his lips and gulped. Whatever direction this was going in, Harry didn't like it. Harry knew that Zayn went through his phone, just as Zayn knew that Harry went through his, but they never actually  _talked_ about it. Harry supposed because there was nothing to really talk about. Neither of them had ever found anything damaging. “I'm sorry my passcode isn't up to your standards.”

“We all make mistakes,” Zayn mumbled. “But I was going through your contacts again and I've always wondered who your friend Drew is. You never gave me a good answer either. Some friend from LA, right? So I called him.” Harry's blood froze in their track through his veins. He couldn't _breathe_ , couldn't _think._ Drew was the name Harry had saved Justin under. Harry always made sure to delete their text conversations, but fuck. Harry was so s _tupid_ , of course Zayn would be snooping through his phone at this time, of course he would be looking to see if Harry had any other secrets lingering in the closet. It went beyond simple curiosity into the realm of fucking self-preservation. 

“Zayn – ” Harry started but Zayn cut him off with a curt shake of his head. 

“No, Harry, I get it, all right?” Zayn said. “I understand why you would get in contact with Justin. I don't like it at all, but I fucking understand. It's the same thing I would've done – it's the same thing I _did_ , once. But me understanding it – that doesn't mean I fucking like it _at all_.”

“Zayn – ”

“All of this Gossip Girl manipulative teenage behavior needs to stop,” Zayn interrupted, his words definitive, final. He didn't seem angry, exactly – his breath was even, his eyes were clear, he wasn't shaking – he just looked done. “I'm serious, Harry. I fucking pioneered these shitty, stupid mindgames, and you are a poor imitation of the original. Cut it out, or stop being sloppy – those are your two options here. When will you realize that you're in zugzwang and change your strategy?”

“I don't even know what that word means,” Harry replied weakly.

“Maybe you can ask Justin!” Zayn answered sarcastically, pushing away from Harry and sauntering into the living room. If he didn't seem upset before, he looked livid now, his voice getting higher with his anger. “Since he's apparently a fucking expert on my life and behavior, considering he's the reason I'm such a fuck up to begin with!”

Harry looked down at his phone where it was blinking up at him from the counter highlighting a smiley-filled text message from Eleanor. Harry could barely stand to look at it, so he unlocked his phone quickly and thumbed through to his contacts. Harry should've taken that moment to remove Justin's number from his phone, but he didn't. He just moved Drew to the middle name field and filled in all of the correct information.

 

Despite all of this, Harry and Zayn still found themselves together later that night, Harry fucking himself on Zayn slowly while Zayn's fingernails dug into Harry's sides. It was the one thing that Harry could rely on – ending up in bed with Zayn after having a fight. Zayn chewed his bottom lip for a moment before whispering, “Princess, can I record you?”

Harry groaned and nodded, gripping his cock at the base to hold off a bit longer. It wasn't new, this particular request. Zayn used to love getting his phone out when Harry went down on him, especially those times when they would get off in Zayn's office, and Zayn always deleted the videos the next morning, sometimes after watching them with Harry, but oftentimes after enjoying them on his own. Harry definitely didn't mind, he loved putting on a show too much to not get off on it, too. And yeah – Harry was trying to be super accommodating for Zayn right now, guilt making him eager to please, not that it didn't completely stop him from asking, “This is only for you, right?”

Zayn tilted his head, frowning at Harry. “What do you mean?”

“You aren't gonna like – send this to Louis as revenge or something?”

Zayn's eyes seemed to sharpen immediately as he devoted the entire focus of his attention on Harry, sitting up and digging his fingertips into Harry's sides. “Babe, this is  _only_ for me. I  _need_ this. I want to be able to look back at you in the morning and know that you were here with me. That it was just – only you and me, you know?” Harry nodded, running his fingers through Zayn's hair as he let himself relax. “I'm not gonna – Louis already knows that he only got you for one night, while I get you forever. I don't need to violate your fucking privacy in order to show him that, to show him how much he messed up. Us – our happiness after we work through this – will be enough of a reminder.”

“Yeah,” Harry breathed. “Yeah, okay.”

Zayn touched his forehead to Harry's and grinned before reaching over to the bedside table to grab his phone, thumbing at it for a few moments before laying back again and grabbing Harry's hip with his free hand again, pushing up into Harry long and filthy.

“Look at my phone, princess,” Zayn commanded and Harry did, eyes snapping to look at Zayn. “You like this dick? Daddy taking good care of you?”

“Yes,” Harry mewled, bracing himself on Zayn's hips and clenching around him, turning on the porn star charm and dialing it up to the maximum. “Always so good.”

“Just you and me, huh, princess?” Zayn said around a moan, his hand shaking slightly where he was holding his camera. “You're always so good for me. Touch yourself for me.” Harry nodded, reaching down to stroke himself in time with the slow rhythm Zayn established, and Zayn cursed under his breath. When he opened his mouth to speak again, his tone was pleading, a beg. “Talk to me, _please_ , fuck, Harry.”

Harry grinned, scratching at Zayn's side before looking at the camera and simply stating, “Love you, Daddy.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry moaned as Zayn brushed _right there_ , a small firework display exploding behind his eyelids. He felt so close. “So much.”

“You wanna do this with anyone else?”

Harry shook his head, letting go of himself to lick a long stripe down the middle of his palm, returning it to his cock and speeding up his rhythm as he fucked Zayn more energetically. “Never, Daddy. I'm – fuck. I'm only your princess.”

Zayn swore, clicking his phone off and gripping Harry by both hips, pushing him back against the mattress and fucking Harry into incoherency.

 

Harry woke up the next morning to several delicious bruises on his hips, a very cheery Zayn singing loudly in the shower, and a series of unopened text messages on his own phone. The majority were New Years wishes and Harry replied to all of them in turn before lying back against the pillows and rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand. Zayn emerged from the bathroom, a towel slung low around his hips and a giant grin on his face.

“Someone's in a good mood,” Harry remarked, eying Zayn warily.

“Yeah, it's a New Year, isn't it?” Zayn asked, walking over to Harry's side of the bed and leaning over to kiss him. “Rung it in the best way, too. With you.”

“Yeah,” Harry answered breathlessly. “Can we watch that video you took last night?”

Zayn smiled ruefully. “I already deleted it. Sorry, babe.”

Harry groaned and rolled over in the bed. “You never let me watch the good ones back, it's annoying.” Zayn shrugged and looked distinctly unapologetic. “Did you have anything you wanted to do today? Can we stay in all day and make another video?”

“Eleanor called,” Zayn said, rolling his eyes at Harry. “She wanted to go get brunch in the city. You down?”

Harry frowned. “But I thought you didn't want to see them right now.”

Zayn shrugged, but Harry caught the small smirk on Zayn's face, immediately distrusting it. “I didn't, but now I don't think I'll mind. Have to act good for Eleanor's sake, too.”

“Did something happen this morning?” Harry asked. “You're in a _really_ good mood.”

Zayn sputtered. “I can't wake up happy anymore?”

“Of course you can. But you did something,” Harry said. “You did something fucked up, I can tell. You look too self-satisfied.”

Zayn laughed and patted Harry's leg before making his way out of the room. “Your paranoia is endearing.”

“And you're full of shit!” Harry called after him, but he dutifully got up and took his shower anyway, his unease growing with every passing moment.

 

Eleanor wanted to meet up at a new restaurant near Zayn's old apartment in the Mission, so Zayn and Harry took BART across the Bay to San Francisco, Harry resting his head on Zayn's shoulder during the ride over. Zayn was still in a buoyant mood, chattering on about everything and nothing in particular as he traced patterns on the back of Harry's hand, skipped fingers down Harry's spine. Harry was still extremely wary about the entire situation. Zayn was just – he was in a  _really good mood_ , and it was such a 180 from the previous day that Harry couldn't help but be concerned about what caused it.

Harry actually wouldn't describe Zayn as being naturally manipulative or deceptive, or at least not to the same degree that Harry was, but Zayn still had his moments. So Harry felt he had to be a fool to just assume that Zayn would never do something awful, especially if Zayn felt like he had been slighted, which – fuck, he  _had_ been. Fortunately for Harry, it seemed like the target of Zayn's rage was not him. No, it seemed like Zayn was more concerned with getting back at Louis.

So yeah, Harry was feeling a little anxious. If Zayn hadn't  _already_ done something to Louis in his quest for revenge, he was going to be doing something soon, and the idea of getting even was making Zayn extremely perky, affectionate, territorial. Harry didn't quite know what to make of it. On the one hand, it was very nice to have Zayn laying his head on Harry's shoulder, to have him grinning at Harry through his eyelashes and pressing soft, lingering kisses to Harry's lips. But by the same token, it felt like more of the same old – Harry and Zayn leaving everything completely unresolved, letting their issues sit in between them while they continued on with the same fucked up behavior that led to all of their problems in the first place. 

They arrived at 24 th and Mission and got off the train, taking the escalator to get from below ground. Zayn rubbed his fingers along the inside of Harry's wrist before entwining them with Harry's, grinning until his eyes crinkled. Harry smiled back, almost dazed by how earth-shatteringly gorgeous Zayn was in this moment, and Zayn turned away, taking a stick of gum out of his pocket with one hand while leading Harry up the street with the other.

The restaurant was off of Valencia and Louis was already waiting for them when they entered. His face blanched at the sight of them – well, at the sight of Zayn, to be more accurate, and then his eyes skittered to where Zayn and Harry were holding hands.

“Hey,” Zayn greeted with an easy, almost canine smile. “Where's El and the baby?”

“We hired a sitter for Riley, thank God,” Louis answered a bit warily. Harry was on guard, too, wasn't sure exactly what game Zayn was playing at. Were they pretending like everything was fine even when Eleanor wasn't around? “Eleanor just went through to the bathroom.”

“You two have a good New Years Eve?” Zayn continued, squeezing Harry's hand before resting his chin on Harry's shoulder. “Was there a good turn out at the party?”

“Certainly not the same without you two there,” Louis replied rather stiffly. Harry snorted and Harry could feel the shape of Zayn's grin against his neck. Every year he and Zayn went to Louis and El's party, they spent most of the duration fucking around in various parts of the house. It was their tradition, with the ultimate goal of christening every surface. Louis frowned, really looking at Harry for the first time since they walked in. “Neither of you look like you've been sick, though.”

“Well, maybe we just needed a mental health day,” Zayn said, his smile faltering. “There are two types of sick out there, right?”

“You would know,” Louis replied softly.  Zayn raised an eyebrow and Louis opened his mouth to say something else before going still, completely disengaging from the conversation. Zayn laughed cruelly while Harry looked between the two of them. “I'm missing something,” Harry announced, his eyes bouncing between Louis, who now seemed incapable of looking in his direction, and Zayn, who was more pleased with himself than anyone had any right to be. Harry let go of Zayn's hand and turned to him. “Zayn, what did you  _do_ ?” Harry hissed. “Just tell me.”

“I didn't do anything,” Zayn answered easily. “Don't you trust me?”

Harry looked at Zayn's face and just  _knew_ that Zayn was lying, and that Zayn knew that Harry wasn't fooled, was almost daring Harry to call him out on it like he was ready for a fight. Harry didn't want to push it while Louis was standing there, knew that it could – and probably would – get very nasty very quickly. So Harry leaned in, licked into Zayn's mouth as an apology and came away with Zayn's piece of Big Red gum. He chewed it while Zayn watched him with a small, hungry smirk on his face.

“That's possibly the grossest thing I've ever seen,” Louis remarked, scuffing his shoe against the tiled floor awkwardly. 

“ _Really_?” Zayn asked sarcastically, and Louis looked away again as Eleanor returned from the bathroom. She was visibly in better spirits than the last time Harry had seen her, looking like one of those smiley models in a Macy's commercial, wearing a brown pleather jacket over a mint colored sweetheart dress, opaque black tights and cute brown booties. Her wavy brown hair was pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail and she was genuinely smiling as she looked over at them all. Harry wondered what she was thinking – why it was that she legitimately liked all of them so much, how her eyes could be so soft and fond. Harry wasn't sure he would ever be able to look at her and not feel like he had been punched in the gut. Zayn grabbed Harry's hand again, smiling when Harry looked at him inquisitively.

“I do love you,” Zayn mumbled, low enough so that only Harry could hear. “Anything I ever do is for you.”

The tension in Harry's body intensified. Zayn was definitely up to something, then. “I love you, too,” Harry answered before letting go of Zayn's hand to give El a hug.

 

Brunch was really rather strange.

The server directed them to a square table at the corner of the restaurant, Zayn grabbing at Harry's arm and letting Ele anor and Louis pick their seats first. Harry frowned before realizing that it was so Zayn could direct Harry to the seat across from Eleanor. Zayn didn't even want Harry and Louis to sit across from each other.

Harry figured that was just something he would have to deal with – never being able to be in close proximity to Louis again. A small price to pay if it meant that he got to keep Zayn in his life, but it still sucked.

Eleanor grinned when they were all seated and their waiter returned to do a quick rap about the specials, taking Eleanor's order of bottomless mimosas for all of them before flitting away. Once the drinks came back, Eleanor insisted upon a toast, “To my favorite boys and to our amazing sitter, Lauren. Thank God she was available on New Years Day!” She took a long sip from her drink, still smiling around the table, and Harry gripped his own thigh and resolutely looked across the room while he drank. Harry placed his glass back on the table and turned to look at Zayn, who smiled softly, almost sadly, at Harry and grabbed Harry's hand underneath the table.

“I feel like I haven't seen either of you in ages,” Eleanor said, her eyes warm when she directed her attention at both Zayn and Harry. “Where did you two go for the holidays?”

“We took some time apart to see our families on our own,” Zayn said, running his finger along the stem of his glass. “Just kind of – see how we could do without each other, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eleanor replied, turning to interlock her own fingers with Louis'. While her gaze was nothing but fond, Louis' eyes were distant, and for a brief moment he looked up at Harry, but his expression gave nothing away. “You two probably needed the space apart. How long – ?”

“Two weeks,” Harry answered. “I missed him every moment of it.”

“But I came for you, then, didn't I?” Zayn asked, dropping his voice and leaning closer to Harry. It was nice, feeling Zayn's shoulders brush against his own, but Harry couldn't help but think that Zayn was putting on an act to annoy Louis. Harry didn't like feeling like a chess piece in whatever bullshit they were muddling through, but Harry also recognized that he couldn't complain about being used when he took advantage of people all the time. He was finally reaping what he sowed, maybe. “Couldn't spend another moment without you, came to see you in the middle of the night and everything.”

Harry looked up at Louis in time to catch him rolling his eyes. Harry pursed his lips and glared at Louis and Eleanor noticed, looking between Harry and Louis with a baffled expression, but she apparently didn't think much of it because she turned back to Zayn, demanding, “I wanna know the story! C'mon, Zayn, give me the details!”

Zayn launched into a severely edited version of the story and Harry watched him speak for a few moments before his eyes slid back to Louis, who had pulled out his phone and was staring at it with a determined concentration that easily gave away his obvious discomfort. Louis looked up at the feeling of Harry's eyes on him and held Harry's gaze for a moment, tilting his head to the side and widening his eyes in a nonverbal, “What the fuck do you want?”

Harry shrugged imperceptibly and then nearly had a minor heart attack when he felt Zayn fingers slip out of his hand to dig into his thigh. Harry groaned to himself and looked down at his plate, willing for this meal to end quickly.

 

Eleanor was clearly drunk off of mimosas by the end of brunch, and she asked Harry to help her walk to the bathrooms toward the back of the restaurant. There were two unisex rooms, each with a small waiting room separate from the toilet, so Harry sat on a small round seat while Eleanor leaned against the outside of the toilet stall, looking slightly green around the gills.

“I've been drinking too much,” Eleanor groaned, going to run her hands through her hair before remembering that it was pulled back into a ponytail. “Not just today – like in general. Ever since I brought Riley back last month. I passed out at like ten last night – didn't even make it to the countdown.”

“We all have our moments of excess,” Harry said, staring down at his hands. “I know more than anyone.”

“Yeah, I actually – Zayn told me you've been indulging in some old habits,” Eleanor admitted, sighing. “He's been calling me a lot lately, but I didn't know you guys spent so much of the holidays apart.”

“What else did he tell you?” Harry asked, looking up at Eleanor as she swayed, her gaze unfocused.

“Just that he and Louis have been fighting and assurance that it has nothing to do with me,” Eleanor mumbled. “Which I already knew from Louis – they've been distant for months, and I figured that was why you two didn't come to the party yesterday. They won't tell me _why_ , though. Do you know – ?”

“I don't have a clue,” Harry lied, glancing up and forcing himself to look into Eleanor's eyes, to make this convincing. “Zayn and I have been fighting so much that I haven't even given his and Louis' friendship much thought.”

Eleanor hummed, sighing and then slinking to the bathroom floor. “I just want everyone to get along,” she whispered. “Like it was a year and a half ago, remember? We were all so happy then – no expectations, just doing whatever we wanted, whatever felt right. I want that feeling back. Just being young and free – that's my idea of happily ever after.”

“El,” Harry started a bit uncertainly, “are you – a year and a half ago you were still pregnant.”

Eleanor nodded, burying her face in between her knees. She took a long breath before saying, “I didn't really want a baby.” She looked up at Harry and laughed at his stricken expression. “Yeah I know – but I just. I'm not like you, Harry. I just wanted _Louis_ , I never needed all of the other stuff – the engagement, the house. And we messed up with birth control, and I felt like I was still so young, you know? And I'm not – I don't know if Louis was ready for it, either, but neither of us wanted to admit it, so we just went along with it. Because we figured that's what you do. It's not like we had the excuse of being teenagers or still in college. And we're both so overwhelmed. I love Riley, I do, but this is just so _hard_ and Riley is having difficulty walking and – I don't know. I'm scared. I wasn't prepared for this.” Eleanor took another deep breath and a small trickle of tears squeezed out from her eyes. “My mom told me that they might move up here to help. And instead of protesting or telling her that I didn't need it, that I can navigate all of this on my own, I just felt so _relieved_.”

“El – ”

“No, I need to get all of this out,” Eleanor interrupted. “You never judge me, Harry. You never do.”

“You're right,” Harry agreed, looking at Eleanor with fresh eyes. Harry always thought Eleanor was a shining example of someone with all of their shit together, and hearing her drunkenly admit all of her insecurities didn't make Harry think any less of her. It just felt like reaching over in the morning to put a pair of glasses on – Harry now saw her better, was better able to appreciate all of the small details. “I don't. I couldn't.”

“I just – I want you to know that you shouldn't feel like you have to do things a certain way because that's what everyone else does,” Eleanor said, slurring as she brought her face from in between her knees. “That's honestly the path to insanity, you know? And Louis and I – we realized that too late. And we've been coping in shit ways. I ran away, I've been drinking too much. And he cheated.”

Harry's eyes widened as panic shot through his stomach. “El – ”

“He told me that something happened, and I guessed that's what it was. He was going to tell me the whole story, who the girl was and everythingbut I just – it didn't matter, it _doesn't_ matter, you know?” Eleanor continued. “It wouldn't have happened if I hadn't run away, and I realized I don't care. It hurts, of course it does, but we'll get through it. We'll craft our own fairy tale and it will be the best one ever told.”

Eleanor took a deep breath, smiling at Harry, and then groaned, opening the stall door to vomit. At the moment, Harry could understand the sentiment.

 

Harry left the bathroom to give Eleanor some time to collect herself and walked out to the sight of Zayn leaning against the restaurant wall, back to Harry, and Louis sitting on a bench in front of Zayn. They were both sneering at each other, and Louis was in the middle of gritting out, “ – You two are acting like you're fresh off the honeymoon but you can't even _look_ at me?”

“Like I need to explain anything to you,” Zayn retorted.

“But how are we going to move beyond this if you keep acting like I'm dog shit on your shoe?”

Harry stood against the bathroom door, recognizing that he shouldn't be listening in on this conversation but finding himself unable to move.

“Why are you rushing me?” Zayn asked incredulously. “You've got to understand that this isn't something that I can just get over in a few weeks.”

“But you brought him back in two,” Louis answered. “Not even, because you actually wanted to get him back the night after he told you.”

“You and Harry are two different fucking people, though.”

Louis croaked out a laugh. “That's a bullshit answer and you know it. You _always_ do this – fucking _cling_ to people even when logically you have every reason to leave, to take some actual, real time for yourself. You've completely excused his behavior, even though he's the one who initiated it, even though I didn't do anything for him – ”

“You know what, Louis? You're right,” Zayn hissed. “I've excused it and I'm trying to move forward with him and that's my fucking decision – I came to it completely on my own and I'm sticking by it. But you're my best friend and you let it happen. I just – I _can't_ excuse that.”

In the bathroom, Eleanor flushed the toilet again, and then there was the sound of clacking heels and running water. Both Zayn and Louis turned to the noise and froze at the sight of Harry standing against the door.

“Eleanor got sick but I think she'll be better now,” Harry mumbled, knowing that they both must have gathered that he heard a significant chunk of their conversation. “Zayn, can we go?”

Louis looked like the kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but after the initial shock, Zayn's face showed no expression other than vague amusement. “Yeah, we can head out,” Zayn said agreeably. “Lou, tell El that we needed to get to our train. Harry and I've got plans for the rest of the day, you know?”

“Whatever, Zayn,” Louis mumbled, rubbing his face. “I'll see you later.”

“Yeah,” Zayn answered, punching Louis in the arm before grabbing Harry's hand and leading him out of the restaurant.

 


	5. Part Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was kind of awful, but sometimes Harry knew that Zayn was lying to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was surprisingly monstrous to write. Thanks to my amazing beta readers - Fee, Emily and Crystal. They all read one or two drafts of this chapter which is amazing considering how fucking long each one was and the fact that I wrote like four iterations of this thing. Ya'll are amazing.
> 
> Also, thanks to all of you for reading. This story has been an emotional roller-coaster to write but you've been amazing and your kind words mean a lot to me.
> 
> Here we go.

Zayn fell asleep on the train on the way back home. Knowing that Zayn slept like the dead, Harry fished Zayn's phone out of his pocket and punched in his passcode. Harry wasn't entirely sure what he was looking for, but somehow ended up reading through Louis and Zayn's text messages, frowning when he noticed that the two of them hadn't talked since Christmas. Louis' Happy New Year text had even gone unanswered. Harry then looked through Zayn's Twitter – he hardly used it except to tweet boring academic things, really – and didn't find anything of note there either, not even in his direct messages. Next he searched through Zayn's web history and finally his Whatsapp chats. Nothing remarkable on either front. Harry cursed and locked Zayn's phone again, sliding it back into Zayn's pocket and chewing his lip as he contemplated his own paranoia. Harry didn't even know _why_ he had felt compelled to look through all of Zayn's shit, except for the fact that he had a golden opportunity and a nagging skepticism rattling around in his head. Harry wasn't even sure what he would've done if he found something – could he even say anything, considering his own recent history? What do you even say when you've already done the worst possible thing, something so stupid, horrible and inexcusable? Anything Zayn could've possibly been up to would've looked like child's play in comparison.

Harry eventually woke Zayn up by peppering his face with kisses in between the Ashby and Downtown Berkeley stops, Zayn stirring with a small smile on his face. Zayn was still sleepy and cuddly when they got off the train, and Harry let Zayn put his weight on Harry's shoulders every time they hit a red light on the walk back to their apartment. It was unseasonably warm now that they were back in Berkeley, and Harry could feel himself sweating on the slight trek back home, Zayn running his fingers in the moisture along the back of Harry's neck before biting him on the shoulder as Harry let them into their building and got their front door open.

“Did you have a good time?” Zayn asked, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist and walking Harry in the direction of their bedroom. Zayn ran his fingers underneath Harry's top, scratching lightly at the sparse hairs on Harry's stomach.

“Yeah,” Harry mumbled completely unconvincingly.

“And people say we're incapable of enjoying ourselves,” Zayn replied, tone still cheery, like he heard Harry and didn't care, spinning Harry and helping him throw his top off somewhere down the hallway. “So on a scale of one to ten, how awkward was it for you?”

Harry shivered, and he wasn't sure whether it was from Zayn's strangely intense gaze or from the sudden chill that came with having his shirt off. “Uh. It was really awkward.”

“Why, do you think?”

Harry bit at his lip and scrutinized Zayn's expression. Zayn was tilting his head to the side the way he did when he was measuring a situation, and his hazel eyes were narrowed slightly as he examined Harry. “Is there a wrong way of answering this question?” Harry asked around a nervous laugh. “I feel like I'm being tested or something.”

“You are, a little,” Zayn answered honestly. “I'm just trying to understand you better, I guess. We've been in each other's pockets so much for the past two years and sometimes I still feel like I don't know you at all.”

“I can't always gauge you either,” Harry said. “I love trying to read you and I like to think I'm good at it, but you're like braille sometimes.”

Zayn opened his mouth and blew out a breath. “Can you just answer the question, Harry?”

“You know why it was awkward, Zayn, fuck. It was awkward because you were dancing around what's really bothering you – or at least you were when Eleanor and I weren't around. And that's – I mean, that's pretty much expected. But, I feel like that wasn't entirely the reason for the awkwardness? Like you were enjoying making Louis squirm, and I don't know. It seems like you're just bidding your time, plotting your revenge or whatever.”

“Plotting revenge,” Zayn repeated, chuckling to himself “Who do you think I am – Regina George?”

“What would you call it then?” Harry demanded. “You look at Louis like you want to hit him, and I feel like such a jackass for making things this way. You shouldn't be so upset with him. This is all _my_ fault.”

Zayn rolled his eyes and breathed heavily out of his nose. “It's not relevant whose fucking _fault_ it is. This isn't kindergarten – I'm completely uninterested in who started it, because I'm here to end it. He's _my best friend_ and what he did was fucked up.”

“Are you even still upset with me?” Harry asked. “Like, really? You seem ticked off sometimes, but not like. I don't know.”  
Zayn laughed but it was short and without any real humor. He was rubbing the back of his neck and looking down at his feet when he bit out, “Not really, no.”

Harry wasn't sure how much he believed Zayn, especially when Zayn couldn't even meet his eyes. “How can you not be mad? You've gotten upset with me over less. Like Nick – ?”

“You're not _going_ anywhere,” Zayn said. “And I know I'm a possessive fuck and paranoid and everything else, but for all that, I also recognize that you're mine and Louis was just something to help pass the time. Make you feel good about yourself or whatever. I don't like it but I _get it_ , okay? I've done similar things in the past for the exact same reason – like, I fucked one of Perrie's best friends at her birthday party for no other reason than because I could, okay? But I fundamentally recognize that there's no real contest between me and Louis and I understand that's really fucked up to say but – whatever. You asked. I don't see him as a legitimate threat. Happy?”

“So Louis not being a threat means that you aren't mad at me, that you don't fault me, but you're absolutely furious with him?” Harry asked. “Zayn, I can't even believe you, mainly because that doesn't make any fucking sense.”

“Yeah, and you sucking his dick didn't make any fucking sense either but you see I'm not pushing you on it,” Zayn retorted. “I don't have to make sense – I'm upset and I haven't been able to think rationally since you've told me. People do stupid things – I know that, believe me, I do. You told my mom that there weren't any illusions between us and that's true. We've both been waiting for the other shoe to drop and now it has, and surprisingly it wasn't me who fucked up, but neither of us have left – neither of us _wants_ to leave. Clearly there were some illusions between Louis and I, though, because this shit hit me like a bullet to the gut and yeah, I'm a little pissed about it.”

Harry sighed, squeezing his eyes shut before walking into their bedroom, flicking the light on and staring at their bed. Zayn followed him in, hanging up his leather jacket and peeling off his jeans before going to sit on his side of the bed, rummaging around in his side table, probably for cigarettes or rolling papers if the slight tremor in his hands were any indication.

“Sometimes I'm not sure whether I want to ask you for all of the details,” Zayn admitted while his back was turned and Harry could only see half of his face. “Louis gave me a basic outline because I really pressed him on it, but like. I'm honestly not all that upset with you, not more than I normally am when you do something stupid, but the rest of this – that it was with Louis, with someone I know and care about so much – it's driving me crazy, thinking about it.”

“Do you think knowing would make you feel less crazy?”

Zayn laughed humorlessly. “No. Being with you is insanity, though. So maybe I'll just learn to deal with it.”

Harry leaned against the closet and chewed the inside of his cheek. “Do you want to just – ask?What do you wanna know?”

Zayn pulled his hand out of his drawer, leaning back against the headboard. “Had you thought about it before? Sleeping with him?”

Harry shook his head. “No.”

Zayn narrowed his eyes. “Never? Not even in like, in passing? Just looking at him and wondering? Or within the context of a threesome or something?”

“No.”

Zayn did not seem convinced, but he didn't press it. Harry mentally exhaled. “Why were you at his house?”

“You still had your lecture and I was feeling antsy, so I just went to see him. I would go over there every so often, and this time I noticed immediately that El and the baby were gone.”

Zayn nodded, his eyes distant. “How did it start? Did you go over there just to fuck some of the stress away? Or was it a reward for a job well done?”

Harry scoffed. “C'mon, Zayn – ”

“It's a real fucking question. Answer it.”

“No, I didn't have any expectations of fucking him. It just _happened_ – he looked sad and I kissed him and he didn't push me away so I took it further.”

Zayn pursed his lips, lowering his eyes so that his eyelashes fanned out across his cheek as he asked, “What's he taste like?”

“Zayn – ”

Zayn threw his head back, banging it against the headboard, sucking in a breath like the sudden jarring pain was grounding. “ _Harry_. Answer the fucking question.”

“I don't _know_ – ”

“So you spat his come out?”

It was Harry's turn to lower his gaze and look away. “No.”

“Then what's he taste like?”

“Zayn.” Harry had never felt so frustrated in his life. “It – I just – I swallowed out of habit and then chased with Corona once it all registered what I had done. It's not like he tasted _good_ – not like I did any of the stuff I do with you.”

A small, cruel smile appeared on Zayn's face. “Did he hold your head down and fuck your mouth? Grab your hair?”

“Shit,” Harry cursed. “No, Jesus, Zayn. Why would you even – he couldn't even look at me during it all – nothing about it was _sexy_ or enjoyable for either of us.”

“He couldn't look at you but he let you do it,” Zayn pointed out. “Where was he looking if it wasn't at you?”

Harry took a deep breath. “He threw his arm up over his eyes and was like looking up at the ceiling, curled the other hand into a fist. Was talking to himself.”

“About what?”

“About how it was such a bad idea. About Eleanor. And you.”

Zayn paused, but Harry had no clue what he was thinking. Zayn was tapping out a rhythm on his leg when he asked abruptly, “Why do you think I took you back?”

Harry wasn't expecting that particular question in this line of interrogation and he stared at Zayn, unable to even formulate an answer. “I don't know.”

“It's really a simple explanation, and the fact that you can't see it is fucking frustrating. You know, sometimes I wonder if you even love me,” Zayn said, almost conversationally, turning back to his side table and rummaging through his things again. “Like, it's obvious that you _think_ you do, but at the same time, I wonder if your feelings actually have anything to do with _me_.”

“That's not true,” Harry protested. “I love you more than I love myself.”

“Yeah, that's not true,” Zayn answered. “You don't love anything as intensely as you love yourself. I suspected as much earlier on, the way you demanded so much from me but never could totally commit to anything yourself, but your recent actions have proved as much.”

“That's – no, just because I'm stupid and self-destructive doesn't mean I don't love you. Fuck, how can I show you that you're wrong?” Zayn rolled his eyes but didn't say anything, just shook his head imperceptibly. Harry felt like the entire universe was slipping through his fingertips, wanted to scream and cry and keep everything from going wrong. How did a conversation about brunch turn into _this_? “Why do you even want to be with me if you feel like I don't love you?”

Zayn sighed and scrunched his face up. “I love you, and I care about you, and I _know_ how much I do, and like, maybe if I just will it enough you'll come to see me the way I see you? I – fuck. Maybe I don't deserve someone who meets me on even ground anyway.”

“So what is this really? Am I just some fucking penance – an albatross to carry around?” Harry expected for Zayn to vehemently object but he didn't say anything, just continued looking through his drawer. Harry huffed out a frustrated breath, digging his fingernails into the skin on his forearm to ground him, keep him from yelling. “This is the saddest fucking conversation I've ever had. Maybe, I don't know – do you think we should go see a therapist?” Zayn shrugged, his shoulders rippling through the plain gray T-shirt he was wearing.

“Louis said that we should,” Zayn mumbled. “Before you came out of the bathroom, I think. Louis also said that he hasn't told his own therapist about you two, though, so.”

“We're not talking about him anymore,” Harry said. “I wanna know what _you_ think.”

Zayn stopped looking through his drawer and leaned back against their headrest. “I actually used to see a therapist pretty regularly. Right after Justin and I had our big falling out. I was getting my Masters in New York and I started going out and drinking a lot. It's easy to do in the city. Perrie was still in California – we were doing this long distance thing – but she and my family encouraged me to go. It was really good. I learned a lot about myself and had to answer to some behavior that I never consciously thought about. But I think some people imagine therapy as this kind of end-all, be-all solution. That if you just go see someone, the problems go away. It's not really like that – or at least it wasn't for me. There were some things that I flat-out refused to work on or talk about and inevitably I stopped going once I left NYU.”

Harry sat down on the bed next to Zayn and traced the pattern of their comforter with his index finger. “What things did you not want to work on?”

Zayn took a deep breath and pursed his lips before his face took on a far-away, distant quality. “Going to a therapist helped me think about why I kept falling back on sex, but you can see that I didn't _change_ my behavior – knowing why I had these sexual habits just made me better at covering my tracks, actually, and I was still doing the same shit when I met you. If anything, going to therapy and realizing that I already had someone like Perrie waiting for me, someone I loved but didn't feel particularly passionate about, just made me sort of complacent. Why work on your shit when you have someone around who won't push you to?”

Harry bit the skin on the inside of his cheek. “Am I someone who could get you to try?”

“I'd do anything for you, Harry,” Zayn replied, and it didn't even sound contrite or soppy coming out of his mouth. Zayn's grand declarations never did – they always had a fierceness about them that sounded much more like battle cries than overwrought emotional filler. “But I guess – I mean. It's uncomfortable to talk about exes and family and all of the insecurities and emotional baggage that actually make us tick. I have difficulty talking to you about everything, even now, and that's part of the problem, I know it is. I keep things too close to the vest, I don't tell you what I'm always thinking, and so you went to Louis to sort things out instead of talking to me. So yeah, I think a therapist could probably help, but they're only as useful as you make them.”

Harry nodded, walking over to the bed, throwing himself on it and burying his face in Zayn's lap. Zayn triumphantly pulled rolling papers out of his bedside table and ran familiar fingers through Harry's hair before taking his hand away, opening his stash drawer and placing everything on the tabletop in order to begin the process of rolling a blunt. Harry watched Zayn's hands work, tapping his own own fingers against the fleshier part of Zayn's thigh, when Zayn asked, “What do you think, babe?”

“About what?”

“Do we need to see a therapist?”

Harry shrugged. “I mean, yeah, probably. I always felt like I needed to be talking to someone anyway. It was easier to ignore, you know – when I was busy. It's harder to distract yourself from your emotions when you don't have twenty million things to do.”

“Going to talk to someone can't be a 'probably' thing,” Zayn replied gently. “Either we're doing this or we're not.”

“No, we should look into it,” Harry answered. “I mean – I was reading online and like. They said most couples break up after one of them cheats and therapy helps keep people together. And I – I can't live without you.”

Zayn nodded and returned to his blunt, sparking it with a lighter he had left on the bedside table. Harry couldn't even find it in him to tell Zayn that there was no smoking in the bedroom. They had both broken too many promises in the past few weeks for it to matter.

 

Despite their intense conversation, Zayn continued to be in a very good mood over the next few days and started energetically preparing for the resumption of classes at Cal. Harry began planning for Zayn's birthday while also trying not to be a nuisance whenever Zayn had to work. That being said, Harry could tell that he was being annoying. He just wanted Zayn to pay attention to him _all the time_ , which wasn't exactly anything new, but it took on a new urgency now that Harry also felt like he had to prove that he truly loved Zayn – that he was fully invested in this relationship, too, that remaining in one with Harry wasn't just a form of self-flagellation to make up for earlier sins. But Harry could tell that Zayn was barely restraining from snapping at him more often than not, andthis then led to Harry wondering whether he needed to get a new hobby or something now that he didn't have school and Cal Dems and the student paper and everything else, which led to a more general crisis about the trajectory of his life, which led to Zayn slamming his laptop lid closed and raising an eyebrow at Harry, who was sitting on the couch with his head buried in between his knees. “Why don't you go see Niall or something?” Zayn asked, his voice somehow managing to come out both annoyed and concerned. “Go see a movie? Hang out in the city? Just get out of the apartment for a few hours.”

“But classes haven't started,” Harry answered in a bewildered tone. “He's not back in Berkeley yet.”

“Harry, Niall's Dad lives in Livermore,” Zayn said like he was explaining a complicated scenario to a child. “Livermore is half an hour away.”

Harry sputtered. Harry had been friends with Niall for four years and didn't even know that. “How do you know where Niall's family lives?”

“I actually listen to people when they talk and file away important pieces of information,” Zayn retorted. “Give him a call. See where he is – if he's at home. Maybe a drive will help you clear your head. It'll definitely be nice to have some quiet so I can finish writing up this syllabus, and then we can fuck when you get back.”

Getting out of the house and seeing someone who didn't put him on edge was certainly alluring. Harry nodded, unlocking his phone and calling Niall, who was apparently sitting around in his boxers at his Dad's house. “We can go out to Boomers, though!” Niall suggested enthusiastically. “Order a pizza, slaughter some kids at laser tag. What do you say?”

“Yeah, that sounds perfect,” Harry said. “I'll meet you in like an hour and a half.”

Harry hopped into the shower, grabbing a plain white T-shirt, some black skinny jeans, and a thin gray hoodie out of the drawer in his room and putting them all on without any fuss. He tied his hair back with a headscarf he had found at the Treasure Island flea market a few months back and thought was really fucking cool and stared at his reflection in the full length mirror they had propped up next to the closet before letting his eyes wander across the room to Zayn's favorite leather jacket where it was lying draped over their bedpost.

“Zayn, babe?” Harry called.

“Yeah?”

“Can I wear your leather jacket?” Harry asked.

Zayn's tone sounded strangely pleased when he said, “Yeah, course, babe. If it'll fit – go for it.”

Harry felt a little victorious when he slid Zayn's jacket over his hoodie. Zayn was slighter than Harry and a few inches shorter, but he had deceptively broad shoulders and a slightly longer wingspan, so the jacket hit Harry right at the top of his jeans instead of hanging lower, like it did for Zayn, and the sleeves fell just at Harry's wrist and were a bit snug through the arms, especially with the hoodie underneath. Harry fidgeted with the jacket for a few moments, taking it off, removing the hoodie and layering a thinner sweater underneath instead, before stepping back into the living room, flapping his arms in the air and asking Zayn, “How do I look?”

Zayn looked up from his computer and titled his head. His hair was a mess from where he had been combing through it as he worked and Harry could see smudges on his eyeglass lenses, the ink he had somehow managed to get on his collarbone, but even despite all of that, Zayn was frustratingly attractive. Harry fidgeted under his gaze. “You look a bit like the freshman wearing his boyfriend's jacket,” Zayn answered, licking his lips as his eyes measured Harry. “Kind of making me think of Sandra Dee at the end of Grease. I like it.”

“I don't look stupid? The jacket isn't too small?”

Zayn shrugged. “That headband is pretty stupid but you still look really hot.”

“This headband is cool, you're stupid,” Harry retorted petulantly. “Anyway, I'll get going. I'll see you this evening?”

“Win me something awesome at Boomers,” Zayn said, turning back to his laptop. “Stay out of trouble.”

Harry rolled his eyes and ambled over to Zayn, kissing him high on his cheek and walking out of their apartment. Harry took the stairs two at a time to get to the parking garage, waving at a pretty brunette who lived a couple of spaces over as she walked by. Harry didn't drive anything fancy – a blue 2005 Nissan Altima that he bought himself after completely totaling the Dodge Charger his parents had gotten him as a graduation present – but it was dependable, reliable, and pretty efficient so it worked for him. Harry hopped into the car, turning the radio on to the local alternative music station as he drove away from campus and onto the highway. It was still drizzling so traffic was a little shitty, but Harry didn't mind too much, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and humming along to the songs he knew.

Harry ended up at Boomers in about an hour, dodging screaming children as he walked to the restaurant portion of the arcade. Niall was already waiting for Harry, wearing an A's snapback and tank top despite the shitty weather, a grease-stained receipt in hand.

“Took you long enough,” Niall said, greeting Harry with a huge hug and gesturing for Harry to sit on the peeling multicolored bench next to him. The entire restaurant area was atrocious, the interior design giving off a Ronald McDonald aesthetic – bright yellow, reds and blues, all of the tables covered in pizza sauce, parents' tears, and Pepsi. “Is that Zayn's jacket?”

Harry blushed but sat down next to Niall with a small shrug. “Um. Yeah.”

“So you guys have worked things out or what?” Niall asked. “You're living together again?”

“Yeah, sorry I haven't like, kept you updated and all that,” Harry answered, looking down at his hands. “Just – the holidays – ”

Niall waved Harry off right as the Boomers employees called out the number for their food. Niall stood and walked up to the counter, laughing and flirting shamelessly with the redhead in charge of orders and returning to their table with a giant pizza box, two extremely large sodas, and an order of buffalo wings. Niall immediately took two slices of pepperoni out, layering them on top of each other and taking a huge bite. “You don't have to explain to me, Harry,” Niall said around a mouthful of cheese. “Like – I've been camped out here with my dad practically all of break. Haven't talked to anyone.”

“Not even Barbara?”

Niall pulled a face. “Why would I be talking to Barbara?”

Harry frowned. “Weren't you two dating?”

Niall scoffed. “We drank together and got naked sometimes, but I would hardly say we were dating. She's actually got a boyfriend in Maine, I think.”

Harry was once again struck with the realization that he had been a truly _abysmal_ friend – so caught up in his own drama that he hadn't been paying attention to anyone else around him. He would need to call Liam and check in with him, too. Harry forced himself out of his thoughts, shaking his head and laughing. “You're such a skeeze, Niall.”

“Well, I learned about all of that from you, now, didn't I?” Niall joked. “So, yeah, what's up with you and Zayn?”

Harry grabbed himself a slice of pizza, choosing to dump Parmesan on it as he contemplated what he wanted to say. “So like. You know I went to my mom's. I stayed there until the day after Christmas. Zayn came over in the middle of the night to see me.”

“He actually called me the night you bunked at Acacia to see where you'd gone,” Niall admitted with a small smile. “He figured you both needed some time to like, see what you were feeling, then go from there. I think he said he was going to be with his sister, or something. How'd he get to your house then? She give him a ride?”

“Uh, no. He asked Louis.”

Niall's jaw dropped as held his slice of pizza halfway to his mouth. Niall finally seemed to remember himself, taking another bite of pizza and frowning. “That's really weird.”

“Yeah. And then we hung out with Louis and Eleanor right after New Years. They're both pretending like nothing's wrong for her sake, even though she knows _something's_ up, but I can tell they're both really annoyed with each other. Zayn says Louis should've known better, much as you said. And Louis' pissed that Zayn and I seem to be all right – key word there being 'seem.' We're just taking everything day by day, really. I don't know. But it's making me feel really like . . . on edge, I guess. Like I keep waiting for everything to come crashing down, maybe. Zayn's itching to do something, I can tell. He keeps saying I'm being silly but I legitimately feel like he's plotting something.”

Niall took a chicken wing and pursed his lips. “Not to sound like a dick, but if Zayn and Louis are tiptoeing around each other right now, what does that _really_ have to do with you? Like, that is entirely between Zayn and Louis, and caring too much about Louis' bullshit opinions is what got you into this mess in the first place.”

Harry huffed out a deep breath and nodded. “You're completely right, Niall. I don't – I shouldn't care. But I _do_ and like, I don't know how to rewire my brain so I stop giving a fuck.”

“Just concentrate on something else, like planning Zayn's birthday party,” Niall answered. “You like event shit.”

“Yeah, I do,” Harry answered. “I've already got the cake ordered and I got his present ages ago. Need to still set up the event page on Facebook. But then – argh. Like, do I invite Louis? Do I ask Zayn whether that's okay? Like what's the fucking etiquette?”

Niall stared blankly at Harry. “Are you seriously beating yourself up over whether Louis is going to be at Zayn's birthday party? You're so _stupid_.”

“What – ”

Niall wiped his hand off on a napkin before reaching over to repeatedly flick Harry's forehead. “Were you always this dumb or am I just now noticing? What the fuck? Your fiance took you back after you did one of the _worst_ possible things _ever_ – honestly, I know Zayn is a fuck-up too but he has really been working on his shit and should probably be given sainthood at this point – and you are still so wrapped up in your own fucking bratty behavior, doing the same stupid shit – _I can't_. If Zayn wants Louis to be there, he'll invite him and Louis will be there – that's honestly it. You are not needed at all in that situation, so just shut up and stop thinking about shit that doesn't involve you. We need to go play laser tag now. I need to shoot you in the face twenty fucking times. Jesus Christ.”

Harry tugged at his own hair. “Niall, what am I even doing _wrong_?”

“The fact that you can't even see it is pointing to a larger problem,” Niall retorted. “You're being selfish. You're not thinking about Zayn and what he wants – you're thinking about yourself and how the fucked up thing _you did_ is coming back to inconvenience you. Well boo fucking hoo. Nevermind how your actions have ruined a friendship. Nevermind the fact that all of this is probably driving Zayn crazy right now – I honestly don't know how he's even able to look at you. Nevermind how Eleanor doesn't _know_.” Niall stood up abruptly, shaking his head and taking several steadying, calming breaths. “You know I love you, Harry. You're one of my _best_ friends. But your relationship with Zayn is seriously not going to make it through the summer unless you start actually thinking about him as much as you think about yourself.”

Harry turned away from Niall's cold, knowing eyes and made himself eat a slice of pizza. For once, Harry legitimately didn't have anything to say.

 

The rest of the day didn't go much better. Getting out to the arcade was distracting, for sure – Harry and Niall played several rounds of laser tag, failed spectacularly at Dance Dance Revolution, and were both extremely mediocre at the rest of the games, but when Harry got back in his car to head home, Niall's words echoed around in his head for the entire forty-five minute drive.

It wasn't like Harry hadn't ever been told he was selfish before. Harry just wasn't used to it being portrayed as a negative, because Harry actually tended to think of his selfishness as one of his best traits. His singular determination and belief that he deserved everything he wanted was what helped him land Zayn, and Zayn called Harry “selfish” at least three times a day, generally with a soft, fond smile, almost as if Harry's occasional narcissism and stubbornness were endearing. It was better than when Zayn called Harry “flighty” or “such a fucking Aquarius, my God.” But Harry knew on some level that Niall was right – that Harry hadn't been thinking about Zayn the way he was supposed to, the way that he should be thinking about and tending to the man he wanted to marry. Ever since Harry had cheated, he had been wrapped up in his own thoughts, so focused on all the ways that his own actions had thrown his plans of happily ever after out of whack. Harry just wasn't sure how he would stop this self-perpetuating cycle, if he even _could_. And that's what it always boiled down to, right? Wondering whether a behavioral change was possible, or even worth the effort. Harry liked to think of himself as a bit of a pragmatist with optimistic moments, but during times like this – quiet drives where Harry was alone with his thoughts, his terrifying, unforgiving thoughts – Harry was nothing but cynical, too wrapped up in the reality of who he was to see anything beyond the tunnel of his self-constructed misery.

It _was_ easier to ignore your feelings when they were inconvenient. Harry used to be the person who picked at his emotions, dissecting his every change of mood and letting his feelings sit open, raw and bloody, but now Harry had a better understanding of why Zayn shut down when things made him uncomfortable, were too much to handle. Another bad habit Harry was learning from his partner, then.

Zayn was sitting on the couch in the living room when Harry finally returned, Zayn's gaze intense where he was staring at his laptop. Harry sighed, standing in front of Zayn and grabbing the computer from out of Zayn's lap.

“Hey – ” Zayn started but Harry just smiled, placing the laptop on their coffee table and straddling Zayn.

“You promised me something after I got back home,” Harry said in a sing-song voice. “I'm here to collect.”

“I guess I did, huh?” Zayn said, his eyes focusing in on Harry as he grinned, small, almost as if he was smiling only to himself. “What do you want, princess?”

Harry shrugged. “Just you. Always, right?”

Harry supposed the tone of his voice must've given something away, because Zayn tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowing. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” Harry lied, grinning large and superficially. Not like Harry would've been able to articulate just what was bothering him anyway. “Missed you.”

Zayn eyed Harry warily. “Did Niall say something to you? You're doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

Zayn waved his hand. “The like – fake happy, super eager to please thing.”

“I'm not – ”

“No, you most definitely are, but if you want, I can play along,” Zayn said, his tone snide as he grabbed at Harry's ass, pulling him even closer. “I really like the way you look in my jacket,” Zayn added after a moment, his voice going softer, soothing as he pulled at the collar. “Can you keep this on, maybe?”

“Yeah.”

“And maybe I'll just . . .” Zayn trailed off, his eyes going dark as they drifted away from Harry's face to contemplate the other side of the couch. Harry followed his line of sight and grinned.

“Have we really never fucked over the side of the couch?” Harry asked. “The hell is wrong with us?”

Zayn frowned and shook his head. “I dunno. Whatever. Go take a shower. Wanna eat you out for days.”

Harry bit his lip and nodded, standing up and walking through to the master bathroom. Harry left Zayn's jacket on the toilet seat lid but threw the rest of his clothes into the hamper before turning on the shower spray and stepping underneath it for the second time that day. Harry was still standing with his head bowed underneath the stream of water when he heard the door open. Zayn pulled the curtain back to look at Harry and then sat on the toilet seat lid, draping his jacket over his lap.

“Are you even going to wash yourself, or no?” Zayn asked tonelessly.

“I just started thinking,” Harry said, but he reached for his loofah and a bar of Dove soap and began lathering himself up.

“Well, just figured you should know – I flushed your coke stash down the toilet when you were out,” Zayn mumbled.

“What?” Harry asked, turning to glare at Zayn. “Zayn, that cost me – ”

“If you want more coke, go ahead,” Zayn interrupted, his voice still low. “Buy more. I'm not going to tell you what to do. Just don't expect me to humor you anymore. I told you I only wanted to do it with you, and that was true at the time, but I'm going to stop being an enabler, all right? It's not cool, it's not glamorous, it's not _romantic_ , and I like it too much, to be honest. It was bothering me that it was even here, so I flushed it down the toilet. That's it.”

“That's not fair!” Harry yelled. “You literally are going to try and make me feel bad about this when you smoke blunts and cigarettes all day? _Seriously_?”

Zayn was chewing the inside of his cheek when he stood, his jacket in hand. “Look, I'm just – I want the best for you. And I'm not accusing you of anything here. But if you're looking for someone to be the Sid to your Nancy, I'm _not_ it.”

“What are you even talking about?”

Zayn shook his head and retorted, “Look it the fuck up!” before exiting the bathroom and slamming the door behind him. Harry choked down a scream, growling low in his throat instead, and turned the faucet so that the water became almost punishingly hot, scrubbing at his skin until it became red and agitated, and then shutting the shower off. Harry sighed and stepped out of the tub, grabbing his towel to dry himself off, and then wrapped the towel around his waist and stared at his reflection through the steam covering the mirror.

Even through the closed door, Harry could hear the familiar beats of Nothing Was The Same – Zayn really loved Drake but he only listened to full albums when he was upset – and Harry forced himself to step out of the bathroom, itching to prolong the fight. Harry walked through to the living room, still holding up his towel, but stopped and and frowned at the sight of Zayn lounged across the couch, his cell phone on his chest, their record player spinning Furthest Thing. Harry opened his mouth to say something, he wasn't even sure what, something petty and below the belt to keep the fight going, but the anger just seemed to hiss out of him. Harry was _tired_.

“Are you okay, babe?” Harry asked instead, shuffling his feet awkwardly.

“ _No_ ,” Zayn intoned. “I was going to call Louis because I do that sometimes when I'm pissed at you. When I go outside for a little bit with a cigarette and my phone. He always knows the right things to say, puts things into perspective, is reassuring. I just _forgot_. And then I didn't – my memory came back all at once – like a head rush, almost. I remembered, so I didn't.”

“You shouldn't feel like you can't confide in him anymore,” Harry said, shuffling his feet and angling his body so he was looking more at the wall dividing the kitchen and the living room than at Zayn. “He's still the same person. He still loves you – is still all of those things. Is still your best friend.”

“That's easy for you to say,” Zayn snorted. “How about we do an experiment? I'll fuck Liam and we'll see how much you want to confide in him after I turn him out.”

“That's not funny, Zayn.”  
Zayn frowned. “It wasn't supposed to be funny. And I wouldn't stop at just blowing Liam – I'd drag that shit out, get him on all fours, fuck him for _hours_. Do you think he's a screamer?”

Harry felt like he was choking around the lump in his throat, like the absolutely wretched feeling swimming through his veins was going to be the last thing he ever experienced. The word “selfish” rattled around in his brain until Harry could feel the dull edge of a headache begin to creep behind his eyes. Harry stared at the ground and bit out, “I get it, okay? I get it.”

Zayn shook his head slowly in disbelief. “Do you, though? I know he says he's straight, but I've seen him look at me a little contemplatively before. He probably wonders what's so special about me that I got an allegedly straight boy like yourself to join the gay parade. Do you think he's ever been eaten out before?”

“ _Zayn_ – ”

“Do you think he'd be as pliant as you were that first time?” Zayn asked, full out grinning as he turned his eyes to the ceiling. “You must remember – you screamed and cried once I got my tongue on you. I can't imagine how good Liam must be, he seems like the type who would hold himself ridiculously still, so concerned with making it good for the other person, so _tense_. I know how to get him to loosen up. I would wreck him.”

Harry didn't even know he was crying until he went to cover his mouth and his hand came away wet. “I'm _sorry_ , Zayn! Fuck!”

“Hey, hey,” Zayn said, and immediately the mask slipped, his voice going low and comforting as he caught sight of Harry's tear streaked face. “Look – shit. I'm sorry, okay? I don't – please stop crying, all right, babe?”

Harry shook his head and took a long shuddering breath. “I'm _trying_. I really am, Zayn.”

“Yeah,” Zayn agreed. “I am, too. We're both just doing our best, right? And that's all we can do. I'm sorry, babe.”

Harry wiped at his face brusquely and came to sit next to Zayn on the couch, readjusting his towel. “This is fucking dumb. All of this – it's stupid, Zayn.”

Zayn nodded, sitting up and turning around so that he was sitting shoulder to shoulder with Harry. He placed his cell phone on the coffee table and sighed before hooking his chin over Harry's shoulder.

“I feel like we're having the same argument over and over and over,” Harry added, digging his fingernails into his forearm.

“We've always done that, though,” Zayn pointed out. “Talk about the same shit until one of us finally does something differently. And then we just find something new to fight over.”

“Is that the way we should be doing it, though?” Zayn shrugged and Harry pursed his lips. “Relationships aren't supposed to be a game of outmaneuvering each other. Do you think Louis was right?”

Zayn frowned, appeared to be barely refraining from spitting out some smart remark, and looked at Harry. “About what?”

“That you're doing the same thing with me that you did with Perrie and Justin,” Harry said, looking down at his hands. “Not getting out when you've got the chance.”

Zayn shifted his body, pulling his knees up so that he was fully facing Harry. “What are you _really_ asking?”

“Niall said that we won't make it through the summer if I don't change,” Harry mumbled. “That's why I came in upset. He's right, I know he is. But what if we don't wait until the summer?”

“You're giving me an out,” Zayn deduced. “You're telling me I can leave now.”

“I know you want to,” Harry continued. “You just don't want to admit that the past few years might've been a waste of time.”

“Do you think the last four years were a waste, then?” Zayn asked.

“No.”

“Then why would I?”

“I honestly don't know why you wouldn't, right now. You were just taunting me about fucking my best friend five seconds ago. You said you don't like me taking coke in the house so you dump it all in the toilet. All of this kind of screams, 'Fuck you, Harry, I don't want you anymore.'”

Zayn chewed his lip and closed his eyes. “I'm just upset. Your behavior is upsetting.”

“So what if everyone was right?” Harry whispered. “What if the engagement – fuck, this _relationship_ – is a mistake?”

“I honestly do not give a fuck about what everyone else is thinking,” Zayn retorted, his tone fierce. “I really don't. Their opinions have ceased to have any fucking meaning for me. I would marry you tomorrow if you were up for it.”

“But do you think that's just you trying to prove a point?” Harry asked. “You told me that you aren't even sure if I love you, so why marry someone like me, Zayn? I don't even feel like you _like_ me anymore.”

Zayn shook his head in disbelief. “Why do you doubt me so much? I just want _you_ . You're the one who is constantly trying to prove a fucking point, and I've just gone along with it cuz it's kinda funny most of the time. I've long given up on trying to explain what we've got to other people. I hate to say it, but it's kind of us against the world – nobody else is gonna get it, nobody else _knows_ about us, all right? And that's just it. That's just what we've got. So no. I'm not taking your out. I'm in this – if you are.”

Harry heard the subtle question in Zayn's tone and nodded distantly, raising his eyes to meet Zayn's. Zayn nodded with him, smiling and running his hand down Harry's side, tugging at the towel sitting along Harry's waist. “What've you got this on for?”

“No, no, I've got one last question,” Harry said, placing his hand on top of Zayn's to still it. “What are you _really_ trying to tell me by getting rid of my stash?”

Zayn stared at Harry a little blankly before sighing and rubbing his eyes with his hands. “Exactly what I said. It's honestly more about me than you. I just – I'm not going to pretend like I don't like getting high with you, it is a lot of fun, but it's just – fuck. I don't want to do that whole self-destructive relationship thing anymore. I'm _tired_ of it, you know? Of feeling like a cliché.”

“A cliché?” Harry repeated.

“Yeah,” Zayn answered clearly, turning to look at Harry. “I know what we look like from the outside, and I know what I look like. I'm just over it. If you want to do it yourself in a safe environment outside of the apartment, you can. I'm not your fucking mom. I mean – I don't like you using when you're upset because I think it sets up a bad habit, but whatever. I'm not trying to accuse you of having a problem or of developing one. I just – I'm only saying that I'm not going to participate in it anymore. We can smoke together, we can drink together. I'm just not going to do coke with you and I'd really rather not have it here. And I probably should've just like told you all of that but I was working and I kept thinking about your fucking stash so I just got up and did it and then I was able to concentrate better.”

Harry nodded, not sure what to say. It was kind of awful, but sometimes Harry knew that Zayn was lying to him. Generally Zayn appeared to do it as a way to protect Harry's feelings, and that was rather nice of him, but Harry could still tell when Zayn wasn't being one hundred percent honest. This was one of those moments.

No wonder Harry acted out, Harry realized suddenly, all at once. Not only was Harry terrified that Zayn was going to end up turning Harry into a laughingstock, same as he had done with Perrie, but Harry couldn't even trust Zayn to tell the truth about his own feelings.

“But enough of all that, okay?” Zayn said, his words barely there, soft like a caress. “Why've you still got that towel on?”

“Not sure,” Harry answered, raising his eyes to smile a little sadly at Zayn. “You gonna help me take it off?”

“If you get up along the side of that couch, maybe,” Zayn answered. Harry didn't need to be told twice, scooting up so that he was lying lengthwise at one end of the couch and then placing his hand underneath the towel, parting it with teasing fingers. Zayn climbed up Harry's long form, reaching up to card his fingers through Harry's hair and smiling soft and familiarly at Harry before kissing him, the press of his lips soothing, reassuring. Harry sighed into Zayn's mouth and closed his eyes, content to lose himself in the give and take of tongue and lips, the skittering path of Zayn's fingertips along his side, the sure hand combing through his curls. Zayn pulled away and Harry frowned, pouting up at Zayn who just smiled, his tongue pressing against the back of his teeth.

“I know I act like an ass sometimes but I do really love you,” Zayn said.

“Yeah, and I know I'm a brat and a cheat and just an all around pain, but I love you too, Zayn,” Harry answered. “So much.”

“Yeah,” Zayn breathed, slinking down the length of Harry's body, pressing pillowing kisses along Harry's neck, down his chest, licking over Harry's nipples and further down. “Turn over,” Zayn mumbled, and Harry did as he was told, bracing himself over the side of the couch and trembling when Zayn sucked love marks into the taut skin of his back. Harry's hair was sticking to his face and he was barely restraining from crying out and annoying the neighbors, but he couldn't help the small moans that spilled from his throat as Zayn tended to his body. When Zayn finally licked him _right there_ , Harry huffed out an unabashed porn star groan, tangling his fingers through his own hair and pulling at the roots, his legs trembling as Zayn worked him open. It just felt _so good_ – pleasure that radiated through his body in waves, fucking rapture, the closest thing to paradise. Who needed drugs when Harry had Zayn, the most addicting thing Harry had ever encountered, someone who spoiled him with intoxicating lies and was capable of making Harry feel so powerful, so high, so important and necessary?

Harry brought a hand to stroke himself, his body choking out his orgasm like it was the last one he'd ever have. Harry fell into the wet spot he made on the couch, wrinkling his nose at the sensation, and forced himself to turn over and look at Zayn, his mouth watering at the bulge of Zayn's cock through his sweats.

“C'mere,” Harry mumbled and Zayn nodded, lying half on top of Harry and pushing his pants and underwear down to his knees. Harry spat into his palm and wrapped a sure hand around Zayn's dick, turning his head to suck at the skin of Zayn's neck, pull at Zayn's earlobe with his teeth. Zayn whispered, “Harry,” and then he was shooting off, digging his nails into Harry's waist as he came.

“We should clean the couch,” Harry pointed out sleepily.

“Later,” Zayn answered, pulling his sweats back up before grabbing Harry's hand and licking his own come off in long, broad sweeps of his tongue. Harry watched him do it with a small smile before Zayn stood, his balance unsteady. “C'mon. Let's go to bed.”

Harry shrugged and followed Zayn to their bedroom, where he collapsed on top of the comforter, spooning around Zayn's side.

As usual, they'd put everything off to deal with in the morning.

 

Harry and Zayn were both fond of the expression “waiting for the other shoe to drop.” It was a perfect summation of their relationship up until the present moment – a convenient way of describing the tension both of them lived with, anxiously waiting for the other to wise up and call it quits. For all of their grand declarations, for all of their intense, all-consuming feelings for the other, neither of them had really walked into this relationship with expectations of it lasting forever, of them riding off into the sunset together as the credits rolled. Harry figured it was a natural byproduct of the way the relationship started, an inevitability to overcome when their tumultuous love affair was founded on lies, deception, and manipulation, and when everything they built together was established in the ashes of Zayn's life with Perrie, Zayn and Harry's love something like a phoenix with clipped wings, fundamentally impaired by the sins of its previous life.

Some relationships just came with a timestamp.

Harry knew that for Zayn, the shoe had already dropped, the thing he had been dreading happened – was even worse than he could've possibly imagined – but Zayn was still standing, rougher around the edges, but still present, still here with Harry. Harry didn't know what he had done to deserve someone as unflaggingly loyal and understanding as Zayn.

For Harry, the other shoe didn't really start to drop until Zayn's birthday party.

 

Zayn's birthday was on a Sunday, but Harry decided to hold the party the night before, organizing a small get-together in their apartment rather than making reservations at a restaurant or herding all of their friends to the club or a bar. Zayn was still making his way through cigarette packs in a way that could only be described as concerning, but Harry tried to refrain from nagging him, instead concentrating on cutting back on his own vices. He hadn't gone down to Nick's to replace the coke Zayn had flushed down the toilet, even though there was an itch under his skin that seemed determined to aggravate Zayn as much as possible, and Harry also decided that he could probably go with drinking less, too. The taste of alcohol just made Harry think about chugging Coronas after sucking Louis off, so it was for the best anyway.

That being said, Harry stocked up on booze for the party on Friday, heading down to Costco while Zayn was having a meeting with his department at the university, and buying a veritable selection of alcoholic beverages before driving to Trader Joe's to purchase actual food. Harry had been doing a lot of research about vegetarian party recipes, and was excited to try out new appetizers for Zayn's party. The Friday before Zayn's birthday was actually a great day – Harry came back home and Zayn was taking a nap in their bedroom, so Harry put away all of the groceries and started on some of the more time-intensive recipes. By the time Zayn woke up, Harry was making dinner – a recipe for Singaporean pasta that he found on Instagram – and they ate together and Harry gave Zayn a blowjob and then they went to sleep.

Saturday morning, Harry woke up early to walk to the gym on campus before coming back to the apartment building, grabbing his car, and driving down College to pick up Zayn's cake. By the time that Harry returned, Zayn was also awake and out of the house – where he had gone, Harry wasn't entirely sure – but Harry didn't have time to worry, as he needed to finish up the rest of the day's preparations, putting the cake in the refrigerator and busying himself with cooking. By five o'clock, Zayn wasn't back yet and Harry was absolutely exhausted and on the verge of becoming completely annoyed with Zayn, so Harry flung himself across the bed, told himself not to worry, and somehow managed to take a nap.

It was a quarter to seven when Harry woke up to the sound of heavy footsteps. Harry rolled over, the sheets clinging to his thighs, and opened a bleary eye to look at Zayn, who was examining himself in the mirror they had propped up across the room.

“Oh, you're up,” Zayn remarked, running his hands through his hair as he turned to look at Harry. “I was wondering if you would just be done for the night.”

“Where were you?” Harry asked, not even bothering to keep the accusing tone out of his voice.

“Oh, well hello to you, too, Harry,” Zayn snapped. “It's great to see you.”

“You were gone all day,” Harry continued. “Where were you? Why didn't you text me? When did you get back?”

“I just went out for a little bit to have some time for myself. And you know I never have my phone on. I got back like ten minutes ago.”

“Where did you go, though? Why don't you answer the stupid question – ”

“Why are you fucking interrogating me?”

“Because you're not answering the question – ”

“I told you where I went!”

“No, you told me you went out. That's not a fucking answer.”

“Keep up with this attitude and see how willing I am to talk to you all night,” Zayn snarled. “I fucking dare you.”

“Tell me where you were and I won't give a fuck whether you so much as look at me!”

“Bullshit,” Zayn laughed. “I took Bart down to MacArthur and then I went to Bay Street and hung out at Barnes and Noble. Happy?”

Harry sat up properly against the headrest and crossed his arms over his chest. The nagging sense that Zayn wasn't being honest entered his mind again. “You're lying. Who were you fucking then?”

Zayn rolled his eyes. “Seriously? We're back to this shit?”

“If you won't tell me where you are and who you're with, I'm just going to assume you're cheating. I'm not stupid.”

“Well, you could fool me! I told you where I was. If you don't believe me, that's your problem,” Zayn yelled, throwing Harry one last glance before storming out of the room. Harry collapsed back against the bed, not feeling any better rested than he had before his nap.

 

Zayn and Harry kept their distance from each other for the next hour or so until their friends started arriving for the party. Even then, Harry could tell that it was obvious to others that he and Zayn had been fighting, all of their exchanges laced with a tinge of arsenic. Niall in particular attached himself to Harry's side the moment he and his newest girlfriend arrived, Niall depositing his girlfriend in the living room and waiting until he and Harry were both alone in the kitchen before asking, “What'd you do now?”

“Does it even matter anymore?”

Niall sighed. “Are you two even _trying_ to be functional? Or is it just like, 'Fuck it, this thing is self-imploding anyway'?”

“We're fine,” a cool voice said over Harry's shoulder, and Harry turned and froze at the sight of Zayn lounging against their counters. “How're you, Niall?”

Niall just shrugged, grinning up at Zayn. That was the thing about Niall – while not possessing a mean bone in his body, Niall also had absolutely no shame. Plus he and Zayn had always had their own banter, eager to just smile at each other and talk about rap albums all night. “Hanging on. You two sure you're good?”

“'Course,” Zayn answered. “I love him, don't I?”

“Well, if you say that's enough,” Niall started before cutting himself off and running across the kitchen to leap onto someone who had just walked through their open front door. It took Harry a moment to realize that it was Liam, and by that point Niall had already crawled onto Liam's back and was yelling unintelligible nonsense into Liam's ear. Liam grinned, readjusting Niall on his back, before turning to Harry and Zayn.

“Happy birthday, Zayn,” Liam said, smiling at him politely. Zayn and Liam had always been a little weird around each other, even though they all used to live together two years ago. Harry had long given up on trying to make them friendlier. “And congratulations, you two. I don't think I've really had the opportunity to tell you both at once.”

“Thanks,” Zayn answered, looking slightly ruffled and a little caught off guard. “Glad you could make it.”

“Well, I got back to Berkeley a little early this semester, so I'm glad you guys could have me,” Liam said before asking Niall, “Bro, can you get off? Your knee is digging into my side.”

Niall huffed out a laugh before sliding off and back to his own two feet. Liam rolled his eyes at Niall fondly and Harry said, “Well, there's food out in the living room, same as drinks and all that, so make sure to grab yourself something.”

“Okay, awesome,” Liam said, taking a step back to look through to the living room and seemingly scanning the small crowd that had already assembled. “Where's Louis and Eleanor?”

Harry felt himself freeze for the second time in five minutes. Zayn's countenance completely closed off as he looked between Liam and Harry warily. Niall's eyes widened as he took in the scene before him and he laughed nervously before absolutely darting out of the kitchen, yelling something about grabbing his third plate of the night and drinking his weight in jungle juice. Zayn spared a moment to watch Niall go before turning back to Harry, stating accusingly, “You haven't told Liam.”

“I haven't had the chance – ” Harry protested weakly but Zayn shook his head, smiling ruefully.

“You found a way to tell Niall as soon as it happened. So go on. Tell Liam.” Zayn glanced between Liam and Harry, nodding shortly at Liam before shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, and walking out the front door.

“Tell me what?” Liam asked, his tone sad and resigned. “What'd you do, Harry?”

Harry didn't even know how to start, so he gestured for Liam to follow him into his and Zayn's bedroom, giving Harry the opportunity to buy more time. This was the one conversation he really didn't want to have. Liam had been Harry's best friend for so long – the first person he had befriended outside of his dorms, the person he signed up for a million classes with, the friend he had actually lived with. Harry and Liam – they were two people who were so different, and often that was what made their friendship strong, but this – Liam just wouldn't be able to understand. Harry knew it. Liam knew what Harry and Zayn were like, better than anyone, really, and while Liam admitted that their relationship often made him feel uncomfortable, intrusive, when they were all living together, he also knew how much Harry and Zayn loved each other, and he was often the person who encouraged Harry to open up, to be honest, to show Zayn how much he cared. And Harry had taken that advice, and stomped on it.

“I cheated on Zayn,” Harry mumbled. “I cheated on him with Louis.”

Liam's jaw drop and he stared at Harry. “The _fuck_? When?”

“Last month, before the holidays. I told Zayn right after.”

Liam stared at Harry before backing up against the closet, rubbing his face with his hands and groaning, “You're a fucking moron.”

“I know.”

“What does this – I just. You're so _dumb_. Zayn proposes to you and you repay him by cheating?”

“It's not like I set out to do it.”

“Is that supposed to make it better?” Liam shook his head and chewed his bottom lip. He was quiet for several moments, staring down at his hands, before he gritted out, “You're such a shitty person.”

“Don't you think I know that, Liam?” Harry answered defensively. “I feel awful about this everyday.”

“No, you don't,” Liam retorted, glancing up at Harry, his usually sweet brown eyes cold and distant. “You _don't_. I think you're just ticked off that the truth is out there and that Zayn is making sure you're held accountable for it. And if I can tell, so can everyone else.”

“Yes, I do – ”

“No, you really fucking don't.”

Harry threw his hands up in the air. “Okay, you know what – you're _right_! I don't feel bad about it. I don't regret actually doing it – I don't!”

It was a huge relief to get that admission off his chest, and Harry felt breathless now that it wasn't weighing him down. It had bristled, every time Zayn had accused him of not feeling bad, of not feeling guilty, but mainly because Harry was annoyed that he wasn't selling this better, wasn't fooling Zayn. He did legitimately feel some remorse, but mainly for humoring the need to tell Zayn, to blurt out the truth in the middle of a fight. Louis, Gemma – they were both right. He would've been better off keeping that particular indiscretion locked up with all of the other skeletons in the closet. But Harry didn't regret sleeping with Louis in the first place. He got what he wanted in the moment. Why regret that? Life was about pursuing what you wanted, Harry was sure of it. Being with Louis just helped Harry see how badly he needed to be with Zayn. It was a learning experience – one with unfortunate consequences, yes, but it happened and there was nothing Harry could do about it.

Liam's eyes bulged and he stared at Harry for a long time without saying anything. Harry couldn't even hazard a guess at what Liam was thinking, felt trapped underneath his friend's startled gaze.

“You know we had a moment once,” Liam said, speaking slowly and deliberately. “I wasn't sure what was happening – I don't think either of us did.”

Harry narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I'm talking about Zayn and I, when we all used to live together,” Liam continued. His face was still terrifyingly blank and difficult to read. “I was walking around after taking a shower and I could feel him looking at me.”

Harry lowered his eyes. “Zayn told me about this. Right after I told him what I did with Louis.”

“What'd he tell you?”

Harry shrugged, sharp and jerky. “That he thought about it – about trying to push you into doing something but that nothing happened. That nothing happened because he wouldn't do that to me. Niall said he just shared that little anecdote because he was trying to rile me up. Is that what you're trying to do, too?”

“No, if I wanted to rile you up, I would say that Zayn had been lying to you,” Liam replied. “That something did happen and that's when I knew I had to move out.”

Harry felt bile rise up in his throat, hot and sweet. “Liam – ”

“It'd be a lie, but that's what I would say if I only wanted to rile you up,” Liam continued. “Or I would tell you about all the times I've seen him with Jenny Mathers or fuck – maybe I'd even tell you that I saw him and Louis share some meaningful look. They would all be lies, but they would piss you off, so if I just wanted to rile you up, I know exactly what buttons to push.”

Harry couldn't even feel his fingertips, that's how _upset_ he was. “What are you trying to say, Liam? What the fuck are you even trying to prove?”

“There's nothing to prove,” Liam spat. “I know that nothing can get through your thick skull. You've always done whatever the hell you wanted, other people's feelings be damned. I don't even know why I'm _surprised_. And here I was – thinking that it was inevitable that Zayn would hurt you, that you would return with your tail in between your legs after we all told you not to get involved with the older guy with emotional issues, but _fuck_. You've proved that you're _worse_ than he is, actually worse than the guy who left his fiancee for his nineteen-year-old student. On some level I'm actually a little impressed. Bravo.”

Harry was rendered speechless by one of his best friends for the second time in about as many weeks. “What do you want me to say, Liam? What do you want me to say? Why are you even so upset with me?”

“Nobody else seems to be!” Liam cried out. “I find out that you've cheated on your fiance at his motherfucking birthday party only a month after it happens and apparently Niall already knows and is cool with it, Zayn is still fucking here so apparently he's cool with it, and nobody said that Louis wasn't on his way so it just seems like the whole gang is here to toast to your dumbass decisions!”

“ _Everyone_ is upset with me, Liam,” Harry hissed. “Don't go around making assumptions. We're playing nice, but you don't know shit about what's really happening, and the last thing I need is for you to pile more shit onto me.”

“Yeah, and how come I didn't know what was really happening? You trust Niall to know and you don't trust me?”

“It's not like that, Liam. Come on, you know that.”

“Whatever,” Liam replied, pushing himself from off the closet door and rubbing his hands over his face one last time. “I honestly feel like I don't know you anymore, Harry.”

“This is who I've always been, Li. Nothing's changed.”

Liam scoffed. “Everything's changed, Harry. You know better than to lie to yourself.” And with that, Liam threw the door open and went back to the party. Harry squeezed his eyes closed and told himself nothing good would come from crying.

 

Harry wasn't sure how long he sat alone by himself in the bedroom, but he dropped Visine into his eyes so they looked less red and puffy from tears and returned to the party. It wasn't particularly large, but there were a lot of people from the University that Harry only vaguely knew, and normally Harry would easily flit from conversation to conversation, the ultimate host, but tonight he wasn't in the mood. He made his way into the kitchen, pouring himself a large cup of punch, and then walked back into the living room, seeking out Zayn's face, when he noticed that Zayn and Liam were standing together in the corner, talking, laughing, and overall looking far more intimate than they ever had. Hell, Liam had his arm slung over Zayn's shoulder and was speaking almost directly into Zayn's ear while Zayn grinned, that full-faced smile where his tongue pushed up against his teeth and his eyes crinkled, sparkling honey colored gems. Harry had never really wanted to punch Liam, but the urge thrummed through Harry's hands now.

“Do you think you can stare any harder?” a voice asked, siding up to Harry and removing the cup of punch from Harry's hand, taking a sip from it and holding it.

“You sure it's a good idea to be talking to me?” Harry countered, not tearing his eyes away from where Zayn and Liam were talking. “Zayn's going to murder you.”

“No, he's too busy trying to piss you off to pay me any mind,” Louis answered dismissively. “You know he's only trying to get back at you, right? Flirt with Liam to make you jealous. I'm betting that Liam's in on it – they were whispering conspiratorially before you walked in the room. Zayn's not actually interested in anyone else. He likes playing games with you too much.”

“I know,” Harry replied. “He's only trying to fuck with my head, and it's working.”

“Well, if it's an effective strategy,” Louis muttered. “Anyway. How are you?”

Harry did turn away from watching Liam and Zayn then, narrowing his eyes as he examined Louis. “Did you two make up or something? Why are you talking to me again?”

Louis frowned. “He came over today and we talked things over, yeah. Zayn didn't tell you he was at my house all day?”

“No, he didn't fucking tell me,” Harry snarled. “He didn't even tell me where he had gone.”

Louis appeared to be at a loss as to what to say, and it was strange to see him flounder. “Oh. Well.”

Harry shook his head and turned back to watch Zayn and Liam. “Would you tell me if Zayn and Liam ever did actually hook up?”

“They haven't, if that's what you're asking,” Louis replied slowly. “I'm pretty sure Liam's straight. Like, painfully so.”

“So are you.” Louis shrugged, acknowledging the point, and Harry sighed. “How did you two make up then?”

“We just talked. We've been weird with each other for a minute anyway, so just talking – catching up in a way where we weren't accusing each other of anything – it was good. I mean, I can tell he's still pissed, and he has every right to be, but we'll get to a good place again. That's what it's all about, you know? Putting in the effort to try.” Harry hummed noncommittally and Louis took a deep breath. “You two will get there, too. You just need to let him expel all this negative energy.”

“And what – let him fuck someone else?” Harry countered.

Louis lifted a shoulder and pulled a face. “I mean – I seriously doubt he's going to. But if it made him feel like you two were even, then maybe it's worth it?”

Harry honestly couldn't believe the words coming out of Louis' mouth, scoffing, “Seriously?”

“You want my advice as his best friend for most of his fucking life? Then yeah, seriously,” Louis replied. “Zayn is the nicest, sweetest, most considerate person, but we both know he's got a mean streak. Just let him get it out of his system, all right? There's nothing you can do when he's on the warpath anyway. So if he needs to go fuck a random, or hell – someone a little less random – then let him do it. Then you can both wipe the slate clean and keep it moving.”

“That's the worst fucking advice I've ever heard.”

Louis grinned. “Can't say I didn't warn you, Harry. Take care of yourself, yeah?”

“You too, Louis,” Harry sighed, and Louis cuffed Harry on the back of the neck before walking out of the kitchen. Harry turned back to continue watching Zayn and Liam in their corner, but they were gone. It wasn't until Harry cornered Niall on the front steps of the apartment building something like forty-five minutes later that Harry realized Zayn and Liam had left the party together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been pretty good at sticking to my bi-weekly posting schedule, but I might need an extra week to get Part Six ready for all of you because we have a huge event coming up at work and I'll have less free time to write next week. Feel free to yell at me on [Tumblr](http://catholicschoolgirl.tumblr.com/)/[Twitter](https://twitter.com/xtracalidopechk) though - that's a great way to get me to do something.


	6. Part Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He just kept thinking about Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, tremendous thank you to Fee and Emily. They both read the first draft of this chapter (which I basically vomited out in a few hours of frantic writing last Sunday), but I went ahead and made my own small edits before posting, so any remaining errors are totally my own.
> 
> And again, thanks to all of you for sticking with this mess. 
> 
> A little bit of bloodplay, a lot of really shitty behavior that Zayn and Harry excuse away because ~~~~true love. I hope none of you are looking for a love like this, because this story is fucked up.

It was loud, some shitty rock mash-up playing through the audio system, the room somehow managing to be both too bright and too dim, everything disorienting, endlessly confusing, extremely unappealing. And he hadn't even had that much to drink – should've done more to avoid the situation he was currently in. At the back of some bar, thunking his head against the locked bathroom door, trying to convince himself that he was up for it, that he  _wanted_ this, Ben smelling of expensive cologne, the feel of his beard scratchy and unfamiliar where he kissed down the column of Zayn's neck, when all Zayn wanted in the moment was to go back home, curl his frame around Harry's and go to bed – pretend like everything was just fine.

It had seemed like a great idea at the time, Liam hooking his arm over Zayn's shoulders and leaning down to suggest, “Let's just get out real quick.” Zayn had no reason to stay at the apartment. Hang out at this dumbass party where everyone was no doubt whispering about how Harry and Zayn weren't even  _bothering_ to pretend like they weren't fighting, or prolong the standoff and fuck off with Liam for a few hours? Zayn didn't even think about it, simply nodded, crowding close behind Liam, and leaving the party without a backward glance. 

“I've got my car,” Liam said, leading Zayn down the block to where he had parked his Cadillac de Ville. Liam didn't use to be _that guy_ – tattoos and snapbacks, a muscle car fanatic with an enabling streak and a dangerous glint in his brown eyes, but he was _now_ , and Zayn didn't quite know what to make of it, figured someone else was bound to think it was kind of sexy, maybe. He did like the way Liam sauntered into every room, easy swagger and in-your-face bravado. It was such a contrast from the way he used to be, not exactly shy but certainly not comfortable in his own skin, stuttering and fumbling over words, a permanent blush on his face. Sometime after Liam, Harry, and Zayn all stopped living together, Liam bought his old Caddy, broke up with his longtime girlfriend, and moved in with a crew of rough boys who seemed determined to be a new sort of influence on his life. Zayn was morbidly fascinated by it all, the zeal with which Liam pursued this new lifestyle, embraced this new persona. Harry didn't seem to quite know what to make of it, the fact that Liam appeared to have changed and would no longer put up with a lot of the bullshit he used to – Zayn knew that was a huge part of the reason why Harry hadn't told Liam about his little indiscretion. The old Liam would've just sighed and asked Harry with puppy dog eyes why he would ever do such a thing, subtly encouraging Harry to be better, love better. The new Liam would emerge out of Zayn and Harry's bedroom after a private discussion, grab Zayn by the arm and laugh-sing, “I'm on my worst behavior.” 

“Which bar you wanna go down to, then?” Zayn asked as Liam got the doors of his car open. “We staying in Berkeley?”

“Nah, I was thinking we'll head to Oakland,” Liam said, turning the engine on and backing up to do a three-quarter turn. “They've got a bunch of new shit open and my boy works at Dogwood, so we're good.”

“Cool,” Zayn mumbled. 

Liam shrugged, a wry smile playing at the side of his mouth as he drove down University and headed toward the freeway. Liam had the radio on the local hip-hop station, tapping the steering wheel to YG and Drake, but Zayn could tell Liam was fighting with himself, trying to figure out just how much Zayn was willing to talk about, watching Zayn and not so subtly asking with his honest, brown eyes whether they were going to directly address the giant pink elephant in the backseat.

They really hadn't been talking about much at the party, despite how cozy Zayn was sure they looked. Zayn could feel rather than see Harry's gaze from across the room, pretending as though he was raptly enjoying Liam's company when he honestly couldn't give less of a fuck what Liam had to say.  _Now_ , though – this was fun. Zayn enjoyed watching Liam squirm – had always gotten an absurd amount of joy from making him uncomfortable, really, picking fights with Harry in front of Liam so he could watch Liam worry his pretty bottom lip – so Zayn was content to pull the pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and light one, cracking the window just enough to tap out the ashes.

“You seem like,” Liam started before shaking his head and groaning. “I don't know. Like, I know we're not friends.”

“Not really, no.”

“But like – what Harry did is really fucked up,” Liam continued. “And you just. You don't seem too upset about it?”

Zayn stared at Liam and frowned. “What do you care? You just said we're not friends.”

“I just – ” Liam shook his head again, grimacing. _There_ was the flustered eighteen-year-old that Zayn remembered from that fall semester four years ago, the awkward pre-business student who somehow got roped into Harry Styles' clique of miscreants. “I don't know. Like, what are we _doing_ , really?”

Zayn didn't have the patience to decipher stupid. Liam was attractive – Zayn had eyes, a pulse, and a burning urge to get back at his fiance, to get even and quell this destructive, familiar, and insatiable itch, but he liked to think he had standards. He would cut straight to the chase on this one. “I'm not going to try and fuck you, if that's what you're asking.”

“No – ”

“I have zero interest in you,” Zayn continued, bulldozing over Liam's incoherency. “Well, three shots in, that might change, but unfortunately I don't want to do much more right now than get you to drive faster. I want to make that crystal clear.”

“Okay,” Liam replied, his tone baffled almost as if he wasn't sure whether he was offended or not. Zayn was used to inspiring this reaction in people. 

“Not that you aren't a good-looking guy, you're fucking hot,” Zayn added as an afterthought. “I've thought about it a lot, actually, but just – no. No offense.” 

Zayn  _had_ thought about trying to get Liam into his bed, but immediately discounted it due to the fact that it meant that Zayn would have to actually try to sweet talk Liam into it, and Zayn wasn't interested in holding any sort of prolonged conversation with Liam. Fucking Niall would probably have a stronger emotional punch at this point anyway, but Niall was smart and Zayn actually liked Niall and would've felt bad about emotionally manipulating him. So that left either Louis or a random. Zayn had fucked Louis once before – well, more than once, in Louis' basement when they were young, stupid teenagers and Zayn was only starting to realize how much a pretty face could get away with – but Zayn did actually feel bad about the idea of doing something so horrible to Eleanor. 

So Zayn had settled on sleeping with a random. It was obviously the cleanest option.

Liam seemed to not know how to respond to this at all, so he fell silent, squinting at the road and speeding. Zayn returned to his cigarette, leaning his head against the upholstery and humming along as Beyoncé began playing on the radio.

Zayn  _really_ wasn't all that upset with Harry – Liam was partially right. Zayn wasn't sure there was even an emotion to describe what he felt whenever he thought about Harry swallowing Louis' dick down his mouth and then telling Zayn about it. Blankness, maybe. Was that an emotion? Barren, hollow – yes. Zayn experienced both of those things. Conspicuously empty, but not exactly  _nothingness_ . The emotion Zayn felt, the blankness, it was bright – blinding even, so visceral and real and painful that Zayn had to turn away from Harry sometimes, often couldn't help but wonder how Perrie was able to live with him for as long as she had, knowing what (or who) Zayn got into during his spare time. But all of that being said – Zayn wasn't all  _that_ upset. Not in any understanding of the word that he was acquainted with, at least.

Zayn just loved Harry. A lot. Too much – suffocating love. And it was fucking stupid and inconvenient and such a cliché but like. That's all there was to it. He had tried to be properly mad, and he had failed. Zayn could make himself deal with this because he loved Harry, so intensely and so blindly that he would do anything for Harry, even when it was fucking stupid and inconvenient and a cliché. Cheating was a minor thing in the grand scheme of possible sins, and Zayn understood what Harry was at least nominally trying to accomplish by telling Zayn about it – even if Harry did throw it in Zayn's face during a fight and try to turn it all around to make it Zayn's fault, acting all the while as though he was being a good and honest boyfriend. Zayn got that Harry was insecure in their relationship – always requiring reassurance that Zayn wasn't fucking everyone in the Bay Area – and acted like a crazy asshole in order to overcompensate. Zayn got that Harry was the most selfish, childish person in existence. Zayn also got that Harry would probably never be  _perfect_ for Zayn – the prince plucked from a fairytale who would make Zayn want to remedy all of his flaws, quit smoking, and like, write self-help books or some stupid shit like that. Zayn had given up on happily ever afters, on sitcom love and soft, honest eyes. It wasn't so much believing that he didn't deserve something better – or maybe it was, Zayn honestly wasn't sure. There was just something about Harry that Zayn couldn't ignore, even though Zayn had  _ tried _ , something eternally desirable and magnetic. An obsession that transcended time, space,  _logic_ . Zayn could've married Perrie and still would've found a way to cling to Harry, too – Zayn knew that now. Knew it in the moment, too, but just didn't want to admit it because he never wanted to acknowledge how much power Harry held in their relationship, held over Zayn. Shit, Harry could decide this was all stupid tomorrow and Zayn would still find a way to be in Harry's life, would still find a way to make Harry see that this wasn't just about the obviously amazing sex. It wasn't about what was healthy, about what was best for their mental health, about finding that person who completed Zayn and all of that shit. None of the great romances were paradigms of easy love, anyway. Nobody cared about those couples, nobody told great epics about the lovers who lived a decidedly content life. If Zayn was going to be a fucking cliché – and that seemed to be what he was these days – he'd rather be Mark Antony than anyone else, with all of the messy subtext and absence of happy endings that such an analogy implied.

And these days, it felt like all Zayn was dealing with was the messy subtext, the loose ends that he had hoped would fade away or resolve themselves on their own. Louis had said that Zayn clung to people out of convenience, but Zayn wasn't sure that was true, not here with Harry, at least. Harry was familiar, yes, but only because Zayn had put in four years trying to untangle the kid and all of his issues. And he had his moments of absolute loveliness but what about Harry was convenient? What part of looking at your best friend and wondering what he looked like as he came down your fiance's throat was convenient?

Zayn wanted to fuck everyone Louis and Harry ever cared about, wanted to resort to the basest deeds in order to fill the blankness in his chest with something dark and seedy, wanted them to see his face screwed up in orgasm whenever they thought about him in passing, just as he saw Louis whenever he pulled away from kissing Harry.

But Zayn  _wasn't upset_ , not really. Just blank. Maybe a little crazed. That was his excuse, and he was sticking to it. It was the reason why he told Eleanor that he thought Louis had slept with someone else when she had gone away with the baby for a few days. It was the reason why he took a video of himself fucking into Harry on New Years Eve and sent it to Louis, smiling serenely when Louis called him at two in the morning to yell at him. And it was the reason why he was going to turn the focus of his energy back to Harry now.

Liam pulled off the freeway, driving down Telegraph and looking for a place to park. It was well after ten and Downtown Oakland was alive, groups of men trekking down the street being loud and obnoxious, women in tottering heels and clinging dresses standing outside of clubs with anxious expressions on their faces. Liam pulled down a side street and parallel parked before turning to Zayn, biting the side of his thumb, suddenly tense.

“Am I making a mistake?” Liam asked, the false bravado from earlier slipping away and revealing the deeply insecure boy underneath the facade. No wonder he and Harry had been so close, once – they were both massively unsure of themselves underneath all of the charm and bravado. “Like – friends don't do this to each other, right? And he's my _best friend_.”

“You're the one who went and involved yourself in our shit,” Zayn pointed out. “What good could ever come of that? Who did you think it would help? Of _course_ it's a mistake.”

Liam frowned. “Do you talk to everyone like this?”

“Like what?”

“Really like,” Liam sighed. “I don't know.”

“Lovely,” Zayn mumbled under his breath. “You ready to go have a drink or what?”

Liam shrugged but unlocked the car doors anyway, exiting and reassembling the mask of the vapid frat boy almost immediately. He and Zayn kept their distance as they ambled back up to Telegraph, entering Liam's bar of choice without any difficulty. It was crowded, but Zayn was able to squeeze up to the bar and get a round of shots, throwing back three of his own in quick succession while Liam switched to some overpriced, watery hipster beer and drifted off to talk to a dark skinned black girl with long, flowing hair and a body that Zayn almost wished he had seen first. The bar was playing some old Pink Floyd track, something Harry had been known to blast around the apartment, and Zayn quashed down the clenching desire to take the train back home, halfheartedly apologize to Harry, and fuck his brains out. Zayn  _really_ didn't like going out all that much – pretending as though he was actually socially capable inevitably led to him drinking too much, getting a little maudlin, and nearly walking into some sort of inanimate object. But Zayn had already come this far, was determined to make this night worth it. Especially since a really hot guy was staring at him from across the room.

He wasn't really Zayn's usual type – his grin easy and sweet, so unlike Harry's cheeky little smirk, and his skin wasn't milky white like Harry's either, instead bronzed – probably a fake tan if Zayn was being honest. He had short straight hair and dark eyes, and if Harry was still a boy in many ways, this guy – shit, he was most certainly a man, faint laugh lines around his eyes, a full beard, and the easygoing confidence of someone who had grown comfortable within his own skin with the passage of time. The guy walked across the bar, a glass of beer in hand, and made his way to Zayn, smiling all the way.

“Your friend ditch you?” the guy asked, nodding to where Liam had somehow convinced the pretty girl to sit half on his lap. 

Zayn shrugged. “It happens, you know?”

“Yeah, it does,” the guy said with a laugh. “Mind if I keep you company then?”

“Not at all. I'm Zayn.”

“Ben,” the guy answered, reaching his hand out to shake Zayn's. “So, Zayn. What's your story then? How is it that an attractive guy like yourself is standing alone at the bar on a Saturday night?”

Zayn laughed, couldn't help it. He couldn't remember the last time he had gotten properly hit on, and this was nothing like the slow, inevitable build that had occurred between he and Harry. This was just easy, meaningless banter. “It's my birthday – Liam and I were at a party and it was kind of dumb so we came out instead.”

Ben frowned. “That sucks, man.”

“Nah, it's not sucking right now,” Zayn said, licking his lips and letting himself give Ben a filthy once over. He was tall, taller than Harry even, and simply dressed in jeans, a T-shirt and a simple blue blazer. Zayn could tell he had money, from the label on his loafers to the gleaming watch on his wrist. Zayn did always wonder what it would be like to fuck an older man, what it would be like to give over some of the power, to call someone his Daddy. Harry always made the experience look rapturous, but Harry made everything about sex look good. That was one thing about Zayn's torrid love affair with Harry – they might be screaming at each other more often than not, but the sex was always amazing, each and every time. That being said, Zayn turned to Ben, grinned and let his mouth curl around, “Although maybe we can arrange something.”

Ben looked a little surprised, but not opposed. Good. Zayn couldn't help it that he was forward. The less talking involved, the less opportunities to continuously measure this guy up against Harry only to end up disappointed, the better. “What are you thinking then, Zayn?”

“Whatever you are,” Zayn answered. “Lemme just get one more shot?”

“I'll get you whatever you want,” Ben said, flagging down the bartender with a simple wave and reaching into his back pocket. Zayn was right – Ben was loaded, his wallet stuffed with bills.

“Do you work in tech or something?” Zayn asked.

“Yeah, I'm one of those assholes,” Ben said with a small self-deprecating smile. “Just transferred to Google. That's why me and my boys are out tonight – to celebrate my inevitable descent into tech douchebaggery. Before that I used to teach, though.”

“Teach?” Zayn repeated. “Where?”

“Um, this private high school out in Lafayette,” Ben answered. “I taught Computer Science and worked in the Performing Arts Department.”

Zayn immediately knew which high school Ben was referring to, considering it was the one he was taking a job at next semester. The same one Harry graduated from. “No shit, man? At Bentley? I just got hired there. And my fi – my friend graduated from there a few years ago.”

“How recently?” Ben asked, looking a little wary. “Don't tell me you're only twenty-one, Zayn.”

“Ha, no,” Zayn replied. “Just turned thirty, but thanks. That's cute. My friend in question is going on twenty-two, though. His name is Harry. Harry Styles.”

“I had to ask, you look young!” Ben answered, grabbing Zayn's drink off the bar and handing it over. “And I totally remember Harry Styles. Curly haired little shit, really popular, had a super quick wit to him. How do you know him?”

Zayn shrugged. “I got my PhD at Cal and he was in one of the classes I was a Teacher Assistant for.”

“He probably tried to worm his way into your bed, face like yours,” Ben said with another laugh. “That's cool that you two are friends, though – and isn't that the amazing thing about the university system? That you can just strike up a friendship with someone you taught. The world is a small place, man.”

Zayn looked down and forced out a laugh, wishing he could shake his hair into his face and hide before realizing he could accomplish the same effect by tossing his shot back. So much for Ben being completely random, then. But maybe this could still work. Zayn wasn't sure how much he wanted to push it, how much he was even  _into_ it. He was tired and in that fuzzy space between buzzed and drunk where he typically got moody and irritable and Harry would be forced to drag him home.

“You're really gorgeous though, Zayn,” Ben was saying, his voice hazy through Zayn's dark thoughts. “So, I definitely think we can arrange something?”

“Whatever you want,” Zayn answered, attempting to jolt himself back into the moment. Live a little or whatever. “Celebrate your Google hire and my birthday.”

“Yeah,” Ben said, almost reverentially. “Yeah, let's do that.”

Zayn nodded and placed his shot glass on the counter, weaving through the crowd to the single-stall bathroom, Ben's presence solid and strange by his side. There wasn't a line, but Zayn checked the door and someone was already in it. They waited a few moments and a girl came tumbling out, pushing past Zayn and Ben with red eyes and mascara running down her cheeks. Zayn made a face but didn't say anything, instead pulling Ben into the bathroom behind him, locking the door and pushing Ben against it, reaching up to grab the back of Ben's neck and standing up on his tiptoes to kiss him. Ben let Zayn control it for a few moments, Zayn lazily committing Ben's taste to memory, before Ben dug his fingers into Zayn's side and flipped him so that Zayn was the one against the door, Ben's body almost smothering Zayn as he latched his mouth onto Zayn's neck and began making his way down.

It was fine, but Zayn was homesick and probably a little drunk. Zayn had a hot guy running large, warm hands over his sides, could feel Ben's cock thickening through layers of clothing, and all Zayn could do was wonder what Harry was up to. Probably crying. The thought absurdly made Zayn feel a little better, but he still knew that he wasn't really taking full advantage of what the universe had plopped right in front of him. Appreciating whatever this was. He just kept thinking about Harry.

Deep down, Zayn felt like he was wasting his time. Ben wasn't even touching him right, was treating Zayn too much like porcelain when all Zayn wanted was Harry's hands pulling through his hair, but Zayn let it happen anyway.

 

Zayn stumbled back into the apartment at something like two in the morning, frowning at the residual mess from his birthday party and throwing his keys onto the kitchen counter before making his way to the two bedrooms at the end of the hallway. The guest bedroom door was partially open, and Zayn peaked in and was surprised to see Niall sitting on top of the comforter, his phone in hand. Niall turned toward Zayn – probably heard him come in – and glared at Zayn, his blue eyes piercing as he took in what Zayn could only assume was his disheveled state.

“Where'd you go then?” Niall asked fiercely. “Fucking off with Liam?”

Zayn couldn't help but take a step back. Zayn had never seen Niall look so  _angry_ and it was a little scary. “We just went to a bar. Nothing happened.”

“Do you think I'm stupid?” Niall hissed. “You can't just lie to me – I thought you liked me more than that, Zayn. I don't have time for a runaround, not when I just sat up with your fiance – the alleged love of your life – for four hours trying to get him to stop crying.”

Zayn ran a hand over his face and leaned his shoulder against the doorway, sighing deepyly. “I don't think you're stupid, Niall.”

“Then what really happened?” Niall asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Got your revenge in? Feel better?”

“No, I don't _feel better_ ,” Zayn retorted. “And I don't appreciate your judgment, Niall. You don't know shit about what Harry and I've got, or how I feel – ”

“Your fucked up 'us against the world' mentality is getting really old,” Niall interrupted. “You and Harry are both too smart for this sick bullshit. Why do you guys insist upon living your lives like this? Can't you just play Monopoly when you're bored instead of playing games with each other?”

“You don't know me, Niall – ”

“You're right, I don't!” Niall exclaimed. “I don't _really_ know either of you, and it's terrifying to realize that about people you thought you were so close to. Because when I'm talking to each of you on your own it's great – it's amazing. The two of you are both so awesome individually but you guys go through these cycles where you're so fun and chill but then a few months later you're literally destroying each other and then it's back to happy couple bullshit, and it's so scary. It's scary and I get why Louis and now Liam have gotten involved, stepped into something they have no real understanding of, but I can't do that. I can't. So, Zayn, all I can say is you two can't keep hurting each other like this. You need to do better by each other. _Please_.”

Zayn shook his head, gulping down a breath. “I'm trying, Niall. I really am. You've got to see that.”

Niall shrugged. “All I see is a guy who bailed on his fiance to go fuck someone else. And that's not cool.”

“I didn't,” Zayn denied. “I didn't fuck someone else. I _wanted_ to, God knows I wanted to get back at Harry – I still fucking do – but I couldn't go through with it.”

“I don't believe you,” Niall answered softly. “And even if that's the truth, Harry's not going to, either.”

Zayn was quite possibly too drunk for this conversation. He pushed himself away from the doorway, still frowning, and turned toward his own bedroom, ignoring Niall's quiet, “Goodnight, Zayn.”

Harry was sitting up in the middle of the bed when Zayn pushed the door open, his face red and blotchy and his hair a tangled, frizzy mess. He held up a hand at the sight of Zayn and emphatically said, “ _No_ .”

“Harry, babe – ”

“Whatever it is you have to say, I don't want to hear it,” Harry snarled. “You just _left_ me here. To go fuck Liam – ?”

“I didn't have sex with Liam,” Zayn said. “Absolutely nothing happened tonight. I swear.”

“Then why do you smell like sex?” Harry asked. “You got your dick in _someone_ tonight.”

“I swear to you, Harry – ”

“How dumb do you think I am? Get the fuck out!” Harry yelled. “Just go! I don't care where, just leave!”

“Harry, come on – ”

“You are the _worst_ , Zayn,” Harry said, his face somehow managing to turn even redder as he began to cry, tears rolling down his cheeks and splashing on their sheets. “Either you've forgiven me or you _haven't_ , okay? Stop bullshitting me. I know I fucked up, I know it, I know. And if this is how you felt after then okay, I can appreciate how much that sucks. But don't lie to me about it. That's not fair.”

“I'm not _lying_ to you, Harry.”

Harry suddenly and determinedly reached across the bed toward his bedside table, clearly looking for something to throw at Zayn, and Zayn sighed, quickly crawling over the bed and reaching for Harry's hands, holding Harry's wrists together in his grip. Harry struggled underneath him, kicking out and trying to buck Zayn off, but Zayn just sat and put all of his weight on Harry's chest, Harry letting out an “Oompf” of air and going still underneath Zayn, like all of the fight escaped out of him with that singular hiss of breath.

“Harry,” Zayn commanded. “Look at me, Harry.”

“Fuck you,” Harry replied, determinedly staring across the room. “I _hate_ you.”

“Harry, please, babe,” Zayn tried again, softening his voice. “C'mon, princess. I love you.”

Harry laughed, cold and humorless, and it sent a chill down Zayn's spine. Zayn hated when Harry went distant like this. Harry was always just so vibrant, so alive that it made Zayn's blood run cold to see him checking out. “How could you even dare to say that after what you've just done to me?”

Zayn stared down at Harry before letting his wrists go. Harry pulled them into his chest and finally turned back to glare at Zayn, his green eyes hard and unforgiving. “I don't know how many times I can tell you I love you in the hope that maybe someday you'll believe me,” Zayn said dejectedly, rolling off of Harry and pulling his knees to himself. “I'm sorry, okay – I'm sorry for betraying your trust. It wasn't even worth it. Do you wanna – can I run you a bath or something?”

Harry bit his lip, his shoulders slumping as he looked down at his chest and nodded hesitantly. Zayn moved off the bed and Harry murmured a quiet, “No,” reaching across the mattress to grab Zayn's hand, linking their fingers together and walking through to the master bathroom together.

Zayn sat on the toilet seat lid, letting go of Harry's hand while Harry made himself comfortable on the floor in between Zayn's knees. Harry brushed his fingers along the inside of Zayn's ankles while Zayn began to run the bathwater, humming to himself as the water filled the tub. Zayn was just so tired, this entire night taking so many winding turns that he didn't quite know how he was able to fit such a breadth of emotions into one day. Niall was right. They couldn't keep living like this.

“Do you think we should break up?” Harry asked suddenly, his nail catching on Zayn's skin. “Do you think – like. Maybe we've both fucked up too much?”

Zayn couldn't help but roll his eyes as he shut the water off. Zayn helped Harry stand, holding Harry's hands as he sank into the warm water. Zayn picked up the bar of soap and Harry's loofah, starting with Harry's neck and behind the ears before making his way down across the planes of Harry's back. “I know I treated you really badly when we first started doing whatever it was we were doing,” Zayn sighed after several minutes of silence. “I was just – you were a lot for me to confront. You were everything I didn't want to deal with, and I figured that if I was distant, if I was mean, you would just take the hint and stop  _pushing_ me. And I know I still do that sometimes. Push you away.”

“I know,” Harry mumbled. “And I've done awful things to you, too. I just wanted you to notice me, always. I didn't want you to be able to live without me – I still don't. I'm _selfish_ , I know that.”

“If we broke up, it would be easy,” Zayn said, taking Harry's shampoo bottle and squeezing a small amount into the palm of his hand before lathering up Harry's hair. “Nobody would be surprised. We wouldn't have to elaborate. Clean break, I guess. Simple.”

“Clean break,” Harry scoffed, dunking his head in the water and emerging looking something not unlike a drowned cat. “Nothing would end between us if we broke up. It would just be adding more people into our chaos. Because it's not like the problems go away by ending it, moving out, whatever. Can you imagine it – we're always going to be _that_ couple, Zayn.”

“So what are you saying, Harry?” Zayn asked, a defeated tone slipping into his voice without him even realizing it. God, he was just so tired – all of their conversations, all of their fights were fucking stupid and circular and that was what was so draining, more than anything else. “What do you really _want_?”

“I want _you_ ,” Harry said simply, his voice so clear and true that Zayn almost believed him. “Always, fucking always. But maybe – I don't know. Something needs to change – the way we've been going about things over the past few months hasn't been working. I'm miserable and you're pissed all the time. We've talked about seeing someone but we haven't done anything to actually do it.”

“Just going to see a therapist doesn't mean everything will get better either, though, I've told you that,” Zayn pointed out. “Self-improvement takes work and like. Can we make that commitment? Because on my end, I'm willing to try, now. I'd do anything for you.”

Harry actually laughed. “How is that so easy for you to say?”

“Say what?” Zayn clarified. “That I would do anything for you?”

“Yes,” Harry answered. “I mean – you just make it seem so simple when you were just – ”

“Do you think that I'm lying?” Zayn shrewdly deduced, his hand stopping where he had been cleaning Harry's chest. “That I'm just trying to say the right things to you to get you to shut up?” There was a long moment where Harry didn't quite seem to trust his voice to work, opening his mouth and shutting it repeatedly before shrugging and nodding. Zayn groaned and threw his head back, screwing his eyes shut. “Harry, I honestly don't know how many times I can tell you this before it somehow penetrates through your thick skull, but I actually really fucking love and care about you. Like, to ridiculous lengths. I'm obsessed with everything about you, and I legitimately _cannot function_ when you aren't around, which I recognize is unhealthy but I would rather be unhealthy with you than fucking healthy and happy with anyone else. You've got to remember – when you pulled that stupid little trick with Nick two years ago. I was _so mad_ , I was so fucking upset and I spent that entire month you were gone sitting around and crying and trying to think of ways to make you come back.” 

Zayn didn't bring that stunt up often, hated to even think about it if he was being truly honest with himself. Up until that point, Zayn had known that he had a strong possessive streak where Harry was concerned, but he hadn't quite realized how  _obsessed_ he was with Harry, how intimately Harry's presence was tied up with his own mental and emotional health. It was terrifying, realizing that someone could have such a hold on another human being. Zayn had once tried to convince himself that Perrie did, but it didn't stop Zayn from treating her like shit, like a sure thing he never needed to work with, and while Zayn had an unhealthy and intense relationship with Justin, Zayn intrinsically knew that he  _could_ live without Justin – he just didn't want to. Harry though – Zayn knew that here he had stumbled upon a dangerous combination of infatuation and mind-blowing sex. Zayn realized that it didn't even matter whether he loved Harry or not when those two factors were already in play. The fact that Zayn  _did_ only made this thing more fucked up, really.

“Harry, you make me want to write sonnets,” Zayn continued, as earnestly as he knew how. “I could tell epics about the way your hair looks like in the sun. The motherfucking Song of Songs would look like children's rhymes if I had my way, if I could write the love songs you deserve to have written about you. How many times do I have to say it? You're _it_ for me. Not in the sense that you're the end of the line, what I'm fucking left with – no, you're the sum, you're the ultimate, you are what I have been unconsciously calling for my whole life. You were never second choice – falling in love with you was never _a choice_. Loving you is a compulsion, a necessity, a breath after emerging from underwater. I just – I can _only_ love you, babe.”

Zayn wasn't sure when Harry started crying again, but at some point he turned and helped brush a tear from Harry's cheek. Harry huffed out a laugh, his voice sounding raw and broken, before standing, mumbling something about, “Don't wanna get pruny.” Zayn rolled his eyes and unplugged the tub, grabbing a towel to help Harry dry off. Harry was soft and pliant in his hands, sweet, easy and vulnerable, and Zayn just  _wanted_ him, wanted to re-familiarize himself with everything about Harry that got himself in this messy situation in the first place. Harry's charm, his intelligence and wit, the way he fully immersed himself in any activity, how he looked at Zayn and seemed to see beyond the beautiful face, to see the uglier side underneath it all, equally appreciative of the gorgeous and sweet guy the world saw as the monstrous Phantom that Zayn tried to hide. Zayn often lied to Harry so Harry wouldn't see how truly fucked up Zayn was, so Harry could still look at Zayn and see  _something_ worth admiring, but Zayn never lied to Harry about how much he loved Harry. There was no point, nothing to gain by holding that part of himself back. Zayn loved Harry so much – savagely, totally, completely, the only way Zayn knew how. Zayn would willingly destroy himself if it meant he got to keep Harry close forever, keep him from leaving Zayn alone with his own brutal thoughts – and Zayn was destroying himself a little bit, he had been, just to make sure Harry stayed.

It was awful and amazing and Zayn tried not to think about it too hard. 

Because love – it wasn't something Zayn had ever consciously sought out. When he was younger, Zayn never really gave a fuck as to whether he found “the one” or not. If anything, Zayn had always subconsciously looked down on the concept. How could you ever pin yourself down and promise yourself to only one person? It didn't seem to be anything but inconvenient, an excuse people hid behind instead of pursuing what really made them happy, a cheap and silly cop out that Zayn had slunk into because that's what people kept expecting for him to do. And Zayn had deluded himself into thinking he was in love before, with another brunet with soft eyes and warm skin, and looking back on it, Zayn was fine with the realization that everything with Justin had been a tremendous waste of time, but this – what even was this thing he fell into with Harry? Wanting to wreck someone, to smash them and keep every splintered piece for yourself, wanting to consume someone whole just to keep them close. The whole universe, locked up behind green eyes and a wicked smile – it was too fucking much to even contemplate. It was obsession. It was everything Zayn never asked for, nothing he deserved. It was love.

“Wanna fuck you like the first time,” Zayn murmured against Harry's lips, Harry's body hot and damp underneath his hands as Zayn pushed him up against the sink. Zayn was still a little out of it, but now he could fully attribute it to the intoxicating drug that was Harry's stuttering breaths, the swell of his cock against Zayn's hips. “Wanna fuck you like I don't even know you.” Harry was still red and blotchy, face screwed up like he wanted to spit something out at Zayn but couldn't come up with a good enough quip, and despite all of that Zayn still wasn't sure he had ever met someone more beautiful. Zayn grabbed a fistful of Harry's hair and yanked his head back, slotting his lips in between Harry's and swallowing Harry's hiss of pain. Harry brought his hands to Zayn's hips, digging his nails underneath Zayn's T-shirt and into Zayn's flesh, before biting Zayn's bottom lip, _hard_ , grinning when Zayn pulled away, wiping his mouth and grimacing when it came away wet and slick with blood. Harry pulled Zayn back in, closer, grabbed Zayn's hand and, slowly, deliberately, licked the blood off. Zayn couldn't help the strangled noise that crawled out of his throat, returning once more to Harry's mouth and humming at the taste of copper on Harry's tongue. Zayn somehow managed to extricate Harry's hands from around his hips, grabbing both of them and pinning Harry's arms up and against their medicine cabinet while he kissed down Harry's chin and sucked a bruise into Harry's neck, grinning at the smear of red he left on Harry's pale skin. 

“What do you want?” Harry asked, turning his head to look at Zayn.

“Want you on my tongue,” Zayn answered breathlessly against the long line of Harry's throat and Harry groaned, shifting so that he was frotting up against Zayn. 

“Yeah,” Harry mumbled. “Yeah, please, Zayn.”

Zayn couldn't deny Harry this, couldn't really deny Harry anything if he was being honest with himself, so he let go of Harry's wrists, slinking down Harry's body and hissing as Harry's sweat made contact with the open cut on his lip. Harry brought his hands down on either side of Zayn's neck and pushed Zayn to his knees, mumbling, “Enough teasing. Just get on with it.”

“You're gonna need to be quiet,” Zayn whispered. “Niall's still awake and you know how thin these walls are.”

“Don't care,” Harry said, carding his fingers in the short hairs at the back of Zayn's neck. “Please, Zayn. Let me – ”

Zayn rolled his eyes, spitting down Harry's length and stroking Harry lazily as Harry grew heavy in his hand. Harry was making these soft, keening noises, his thigh twitching and his hands clenching and unclenching in Zayn's hair, but Harry didn't close his eyes, forcing himself to watch as Zayn tongued Harry's slit, ran his bloody bottom lip around the head of Harry's cock, and finally sucked Harry into his mouth, hollowing around his thickness and humming. Zayn glanced up to watch Harry, grinning and just knowing what he looked like – the contrast of his honeyed skin against Harry's paler tone, the flush of dark eyelashes as he sighed at the weight of Harry's cock on his tongue, sucking and swallowing, trying to get Harry as wet as possible.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Harry chanted, his stomach jumping as Zayn took Harry deeper. “You suck your mystery man off like this, Zayn?” Zayn went to pull off, to deny doing with anyone what he was doing with Harry now, but Harry fisted his hand in Zayn's hair and held him in place, fucking deeper into Zayn's mouth. Zayn relaxed his throat but he could still feel tears pricking at his eyes. “No, no, it's my turn now, babe,” Harry added cruelly. “Did you swallow him down like this? Let him fuck your mouth like this?”

Zayn could feel the anger building inside of him in huge, crushing waves, but despite that, he couldn't help the thrum of appreciation at how awful Harry was being to him. Zayn knew he probably deserved it, especially for making Harry cry, but it was really hot, an aphrodisiac, watching Harry's breath come in loud little fits, high pitched noises tumbling from his lips as he unraveled underneath the expertise of Zayn's mouth. They were both being so loud, Harry cursing and goading Zayn on, and Zayn hungrily sucking Harry into his mouth and jerking Harry off – Zayn knew Niall could hear them, and Zayn knew that Harry probably  _wanted_ Niall to hear them, wanted the whole world to know that Zayn and Harry had their moments but they would always end up like this, entwined in the best way, Harry shouting Zayn's name as he came. 

Harry was still trying to catch his breath when Zayn surged up, grabbing Harry by the back of his neck and bringing him in for a close-mouthed kiss, grunting to get Harry to open up. Harry parted his lips and jerked at the salty-milky taste of himself as Zayn snowballed Harry's cum into Harry's own mouth.

“Should've spit it into your face,” Zayn said, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Fucking asshole.”

Harry laughed, bracing himself against the sink and looking sated and entirely too self-satisfied. “You know you loved it, babe.”

“You caterwauling so your bestie in our guest room could hear it? Yeah.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I'm sure Liam could hear you when you were fucking someone else, too.”

Zayn wanted to pull his own hair out and shove it down Harry's throat. “I didn't fuck anyone, Harry – ”

“You've got a giant bruise on your neck, and more on your waist, and they didn't come from me,” Harry pointed out. “What was his name? Or did you not even catch it, too eager to get back at me? What did he taste like, Zayn?”

Zayn had a bad habit of saying things just to piss Harry off, so looked straight into Harry's eyes, braced himself for an incoming swing, and spat out, “Like you, but sweeter.”

Harry stared at Zayn, flexing the fingers of his right hand, before shaking his head and pushing his way out of the bathroom. “You should go sleep on the couch,” Harry said over his shoulder. “Or call Louis or something – anything. I don't fucking care. Just don't slink into my bed tonight.”

“Babe – ”

Harry didn't say anything else, walking out of the master bathroom and collapsing onto the bed. Zayn watched him go and tried to breath around the lump in his throat. He hadn't even sucked Ben off.

Zayn sat alone in the bathroom for a long time, lost in his own swirling thoughts, before he finally shut the lights off, pulled some blankets out of the hall closet, and passed out on the couch.

 

Zayn woke up ridiculously early with a killer migraine, bright light filtering through the blinds, and Niall unabashedly banging pans in the kitchen.

“The fuck – ?” Zayn croaked, rolling over and damn near falling off the couch as he reached to clutch at his poor head. “Niall – please. Oh my God. Please stop.”

“Oh, did I wake you up?” Niall asked sarcastically, dropping the pans onto the stove with a clatter. He looked crazed, bags under his eyes, blonde hair sticking up all around his face, his T-shirt wrinkled. “How inconsiderate of me! I wasn't aware that people were trying to _sleep_ in here. I just assumed you and Harry would still be having the loudest fucking sex I've ever had the misfortune of overhearing in my life.” 

“Sorry,” Zayn said, wincing. “I told him to be quiet.”

“Oh well, Lord knows I just needed you to apologize,” Niall said. “Half-hearted apology – wow, I can see why Harry always takes you back, because now everything's miraculously better! I feel well-rested and everything! Thanks, Zayn!”

Zayn bit back his own smart remark and instead forced himself up, walking to his bedroom and pursing his lips when he saw that Harry locked himself in. Zayn turned and walked through their other bedroom to the guest bath instead, eternally grateful to his past self for leaving a bottle of Excedrin in the medicine cabinet. Zayn made his way back to the kitchen, gesturing for Niall to sit at the dining room table as he dumped out two pills into his hand and swallowed them dry, placed the Excedrin bottle on the counter, and began pulling out food from their refrigerator for breakfast.

“What are you going to cook?” Niall asked, a little calmer now that he had unleashed his aggression on Zayn and Harry's kitchenware. “Can you make enough for me?”

“Course. And I'm thinking French toast with bananas and strawberries,” Zayn answered. “And maybe some bacon and eggs. We've got some orange juice, too, if you don't mind going down to the corner store real quick for sparkling wine or Champagne.”

“This an 'I'm sorry for being a giant dick' meal, then?” Niall inquired wryly.

Zayn shrugged. “Maybe.”

“You guys make big all star apology meals for each other once a week then?”

Zayn glared at Niall who simply cackled. “'S not funny, Niall.”

“Yeah it is,” Niall said, pushing himself out of his chair. “Well, I mean, not in any normal sense, but like by shitty relationship standards? It's hilarious. It's your birthday – happy birthday by the way, bro – and instead of celebrating the way two normal people would, you're cooking an apology meal for your boyfriend – fiance – wait, what are you two even? Are you guys even together right now?”

Zayn furiously chewed the inside of his cheek. “You can stop fucking with me at any time.”

Niall rolled his eyes and patted down his jeans. “Okay, okay. Sore spot, got it. I'll run down to the corner store, then. Five dollar Andre's cool?”  
“Yeah,” Zayn replied. “Thanks, Nialler. For like. Everything.”

Niall smiled, his open, easy grin and nodded at Zayn, leaving Zayn by himself.

 

Zayn had finished everything but the bacon by the time Niall came back with a cheap bottle of champagne in hand, and by that point Harry had emerged from the master bedroom, probably lured out by the smell of food, and took a seat at the dining room table, flicking through one of his cooking magazines. Zayn and Harry had exchanged a few pleasantries but the mood in the room was decidedly tense, Niall picking up on it the moment he stepped back into the apartment.

“Morning, Haz,” Niall greeted, placing the champagne on the counter and seating himself next to Harry. “How'd you sleep?”

“Fine,” Harry said, his voice taking on the affected light and airy tone he adopted whenever something was really bothering him. “How about you?”

“You two are a little loud,” Niall answered bluntly. “Didn't get much sleep in while you were going at it.”

“Sorry,” Harry said, his voice lacking any trace of remorse. Niall turned away to look at Zayn pleadingly, but Zayn just shrugged and shut the stove off. Harry always did this overly polite bullshit. “Everything ready then, Zayn?”

“Yeah,” Zayn replied, pulling down three plates. “Let Niall get his food first?”

“Course.” Niall was looking at Harry like he was a fucking alien who had just beamed down from a spaceship and was poised to launch a surprise attack, but Niall still got up and loaded his plate up, walking back to the table and watching Harry suspiciously. Harry stood next, grabbing his plate and kissing Zayn sweetly on the lips before turning to the stove. “Thanks, babe.”

“No problem,” Zayn answered. 

“You'll let me cook dinner for you later then?” Harry mumbled, his voice uncertain enough that Zayn felt like a tremendous asshole. Zayn _knew_ how insecure Harry was, knew that Harry tended to blame shit on himself even when things were clearly Zayn's fault. It was actually rather terrifying how similar he and Perrie were in their responses to things, sometimes, but feeling bad about it didn't stop Zayn from taking advantage when it was convenient. “Or let me take you somewhere nice?”

“We can stay in,” Zayn replied, his voice equally low as he ran his hand down the back of Harry's arm. “And you can be dessert, yeah?”

Harry nodded, smiling shyly, and Zayn could feel a little bit of the tension slip out of the room. Harry filled up his plate and Zayn grabbed his own, selecting the French toast and eggs and completely forsaking the bacon since Harry had only bought the pork option the last time he'd gone shopping. Zayn poured out orange juice and champagne for all of them and finally sat down himself, watching morbidly as Niall shoveled huge mouthfuls of food into his mouth.

“ _So_ ,” Niall said, eyes darting between Zayn and Harry warily as he ate. “Are you two just pretending like yesterday didn't happen then? Is that how this game goes?”

Zayn coughed awkwardly and chanced a glance over at Harry, who was outright glaring at Niall. “We already talked about it,” Harry said.

“No, you didn't,” Niall scoffed. “And it's really obvious. Just letting you know.”

“What do you even fucking care?” Harry asked, his tone venomous. Zayn had _never_ seen Harry lash out at Niall, and Niall was visibly startled, blue eyes wide as saucers.

“Don't talk to Niall like that,” Zayn said. “He's just looking after you, you brat.”

“Oh really? And what would _you_ know about looking after me?”

“More than you do about caring about me, that's for fucking sure – ”

“I shouldn't have said anything,” Niall mumbled to himself, almost as though he was realizing it in that very moment. “Fuck, I really shouldn't have said anything.”

“Oh yes, Zayn. I forgot. You love me _so much_ that you'll leave me to go fuck a random and then come and suck me off in the same night,” Harry hissed. “You know so much about love.”

“Better a random than your best friend, right?” Zayn tossed out. “Remember when we had that conversation about not dragging our friends into our bullshit? See how you're doing that again – _right fucking now_? Tell me how sorry you are again for getting on your knees for Louis, babe.”

Harry's face screwed up, clearly on the verge of tears, and he pushed his chair back from the table, stomping down the hallway and slamming the bedroom door shut.

Zayn let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding and returned to his food. Niall was staring blankly at Harry's empty chair.

“How can you guys even talk to each other like that?” Niall asked after several silent minutes had passed. “ _Fuck_.”

“We'll be fine again in a few hours” Zayn sighed. “And I know that's weird but that's how it always goes. I mean – even if I tried to explain it, you wouldn't understand.”

“You're fucking right, and I wouldn't want to understand,” Niall mumbled. “Well, it was very nice seeing firsthand all of the reasons why Liam couldn't wait to move away from you two. I'm out.” Niall stood, walking into the guest bedroom, grabbing his things and pausing as he headed toward the front door. “I'll – uh. I'll see you later?”

Zayn shrugged and stood to lock up behind Niall after he left. Then he went and had a cigarette or three.

 

And as usual, Harry had Zayn laid out on their kitchen counter a few hours later, Harry's fingers slick with olive oil because he was in too much of a hurry to grab the bottle of lube they had actually stashed below the sink for scenarios like this. It hadn't even taken too much for them to both get their clothes off – Harry stalking out of the bedroom and fixing Zayn with a look that immediately had all of the blood rushing to Zayn's dick – Harry's hair wild, his green eyes burning with anger, and wearing only his pair of black Calvin Klein boxer shorts. Zayn couldn't get his clothes off quickly enough and he didn't regret it in the least, especially when Harry crooked his finger just right and Zayn huffed out a high keen, screwing his eyes shut as Harry pumped deep into him.

“Look at me, Zayn,” Harry commanded and Zayn did, cursing at himself for always being so predictable, for always giving in to whatever Harry wanted. 

It was easy for people to say that Harry and Zayn weren't good for each other, that Harry wasn't what Zayn needed, but they didn't get to see Harry like  _this_ , chest flushed, red creeping up his neck, nipples hard and cock leaking as he fucked his fingers into Zayn, pushing in past the knuckle, completely ignoring his own arousal to tend to Zayn, to make this good – make this  _everything_ . Zayn knew what Harry was trying to prove – wanted to fuck the memory of anyone else out of Zayn's mind, and Zayn was always willing to let Harry try, even though there was nothing left to prove. Zayn couldn't imagine duplicating this feeling with anyone else, wasn't willing to bother anymore. Harry was just so fucking beautiful, so in tune with everything Zayn was, so Zayn brought Harry in closer by the back of his neck and breathed into his mouth, whining when Harry slid a third finger in.

“Just fuck me, Harry, c'mon,” Zayn mumbled half against Harry's lips. “Just do it, c'mon.”

“Okay, yeah, okay,” Harry answered, taking his fingers out and wiping them absently on his thigh as Zayn hopped down from the counter, wobbling for a moment before latching himself to Harry's neck, biting and sucking and reaching down to stroke Harry's cock. Harry batted his hand away with a quiet, “Patience, Zayn, _fuck_ ,” before grabbing their bottle of olive oil again and drizzling some into the palm of his hand, stroking himself while humming and letting Zayn attack his collarbone. “C'mon, Zayn,” Harry begged. “C'mon, babe, turn around.”

Zayn did as he was told, hunching over the counter top and bracing himself on his haunches as he felt Harry knead his hands up Zayn's thighs before grabbing his ass and spreading Zayn apart, brushing the head of his cock against Zayn's entrance teasingly.

“Get on with it,” Zayn gritted out. “If you're gonna do it, just do it.”

“No,” Harry said. “Not yet.”

“ _Harry_.”

But Harry completely ignored Zayn, holding his cock against Zayn's hole and sliding himself against it, the tip occasionally catching against Zayn's rim. Zayn was desperate, biting out obscenities, his cock bubbling precome against the cabinets. “Harry,  _please_ .”

“Your neck is covered in hickies from someone else,” Harry groaned directly into Zayn's ear. “I should leave you – and your bullshit ring – right here and never come back.”

“You wouldn't – ”

“I wouldn't,” Harry agreed, tugging Zayn's neck back and holding him by the throat. Zayn's eyes fluttered, but Harry wasn't holding him tightly, not at all, instead using the momentum to pull Zayn back onto his cock. “I wouldn't, but I _should_.” Zayn cried out, toes curling at the sudden fullness that was piercing his guts, and Harry puffed out hot breaths against Zayn's collarbone, biting him once before pushing Zayn's head away and throwing his hand onto Zayn's shoulder, pushing into Zayn until Harry was completely penetrating him. It was too much, and Zayn didn't have nearly enough time to adjust before Harry was pulling back out and pushing into Zayn again and again, his fingernails scratching paths over Zayn's collarbones and shoulders and down his back. 

Zayn knew he should tell Harry to slow down, to take it easier on him, but Zayn was getting off on all of this too much, too aroused at the idea of Harry trying to punish Zayn by fucking the ability to speak out of him. Because in this moment, Zayn was completely incapable of any sort of rational thought, of any smart comments, arms splayed across the counter, head pillowed on his left arm, biting into the skin there as Harry's movements had him banging up against their paper towel holder. Harry's hands crept back into Zayn's hair, pulling Zayn flush against his chest as he continued to push into Zayn filthily, turning Zayn's head so he was essentially breathing on Zayn and biting his lips as opposed to actually kissing him. Harry's movements began to stutter as he croaked out, “Fuck, Zayn, fuck I'm – ” and then he was coming deep inside of Zayn, his fingers pulling taut on Zayn's scalp before he collapsed against Zayn's back, face wet with either sweat or tears, Zayn wasn't sure which.

“You useless now?” Zayn asked, attempting to buck Harry off of him. “C'mon, babe.”

“You should . . . go fuck yourself,” Harry mumbled sleepily, pulling out of Zayn slowly and ignoring Zayn's pained wince. “Or call up whoever it was you slept with last night.”

“I told you, I didn't fucking sleep with anyone,” Zayn hissed. “Don't you think I would rub it in your face if I did?”

“Not necessarily, no,” Harry answered. “You'd do whatever it is that you think is the greater punishment and this fucking limbo – not knowing whether I can believe you or not – this is the _worst_.”

“Why can't you just believe me?” Zayn plead.

Harry rolled his eyes, reaching over to screw the cap back onto the olive oil. Zayn wrinkled his nose at Harry – that was fucking disgusting, couldn't he wash his hands off first? “When have you ever been straightforward and honest with me?”

“Every fucking day,” Zayn said. “When I wake up and tell you first thing that I love you. When you get insecure and I tell you that you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen. When I tell you that I don't give a fuck – that we could go and get married right now and it would be _everything_ for me.”

Harry gave Zayn a little sideways look that Zayn couldn't entirely decipher. “Get married right now? Even – after everything?”

“Yes,” Zayn exhaled. “ _Because_ of everything. Because I couldn't do this with anyone else – because if I'm stuck playing these stupid, destructive games, I only want to play them with you.”

Harry looked down at his feet and took a long, deep breath. “Let's make a deal, okay?” Harry asked in a very small voice. “Clean slate? I'm going to just pretend like the past few days didn't happen. I'm not going to bring it up again after this moment, because if I keep thinking about you with someone else, I'll go crazy and never be able to live with you, and that's all I've ever wanted, okay?”

“Yeah,” Zayn said. 

“And in exchange, you don't bring up what I did with Louis,” Harry replied. “Clean slate – we're _even_.”

“I can do that,” Zayn answered, licking his lips. He could – it would be hard, but he could. He didn't want to think about Harry and Louis anyway, wanted the easy camaraderie back, wanted that silly, happy feeling that had bubbled inside of him when Harry had said that yes, he did want to marry Zayn, and there was only Harry and Zayn, none of this other meaningless bullshit. “But I want one thing.”

“What?” 

“Let's go down to City Hall after your birthday,” Zayn suggested. “I'm sick of pretending like this isn't what we were barreling toward all along. Let's just get married. Fuck everything else. Just you and me – stop dragging everyone else into it, right?”

Harry gazed softly at Zayn and nodded, his dimples in full effect. Zayn hadn't seen Harry quite so happy in such a long time, and when Zayn leaned in to taste his grin, Zayn couldn't help but think that he  _could_ do this. This happily ever after, riding into the sunset thing. He would, if not for himself, for Harry.

 


	7. Part Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And that was enough, that was everything, that was it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A world of thanks to my betas Fee & Emily. They are honestly the dream team and this story would've been so boring without their ideas, feedback (including pushback) and cheerleading. And thanks, of course, to all of you for sticking with this.
> 
> One quick note - this chapter was supposed to be the last one before the Epilogue, but it got too long so I split it in half, and then I remembered some loose ends I wanted to resolve, and well, the short of it is that now you're looking at a nine chapter fic plus the Epilogue. I hope you don't mind.

He had been having a good dream – he and Zayn buying a new Cadillac Escalade and then cruising down the interstate, the two of them stopping off at the coast, holding hands as they made their way to the shore. It was nothing like any beach Harry had been to in Northern California, which should've given away the fact that it was clearly a dream – not brisk and foggy, the water instead calm and tranquil, so warm that Harry almost believed he was actually there, wherever  _there_ was. And then it changed, and Harry and Zayn were standing underneath a canopy, their hands joined as a Justice of the Peace stood before them, and then the Justice of the Peace turned into Santa Claus – 

“Harry,” Zayn murmured. “Harry, wake up.”

“No,” Harry answered petulantly, batting at Zayn where he was shaking Harry's shoulders. “Wanna sleep. Don't need to be up yet.”

“We have no idea how crazy the County Clerk's Office is gonna be,” Zayn answered soothingly. “Don't wanna make Louis and Eleanor wait around all day, right?”

Harry hated when Zayn was rational, except for how much he loved when Zayn was rational and sweet and lovely and  _his_ . Harry nodded and slowly made himself sit up, turning and grinning sleepily at Zayn, who was looking far too delectable for however early in the morning it was, already showered and dressed in a pair of smart slacks and a crisp white button-down with a tie thrown over his shoulder. He had even shaved, making him look young and boyish. Harry liked Zayn's beard, liked how much older and sophisticated Zayn looked with a bit of scruff on his face, but seeing him clean-shaven almost fooled Harry into believing they were on even footing here. “What time's it?”

“6:30.”

Harry blinked at Zayn. “Why are you up so early?”

“Couldn't sleep,” Zayn admitted with a shrug. “Nervous.”

“Good nervous?” Harry asked. “Not like – abandoning me for a nineteen-year-old student nervous?”

Zayn huffed out a laugh and shook his head at Harry. “Nah, nothing like that. Just wanna go and  _do it_ , you know?”

Harry nodded, leaning over to run his hands through Zayn's hair. Zayn made a face when Harry fucked up his quiff, but Harry swooped Zayn's gel-slick strands so that his hair was tousled to the side, the way it looked when he first woke up in the morning, soft and effortless. “Give it two hours, babe.”

“So you're still here in this thing with me?” Zayn asked, looking down at his hands. He did seem ridiculously nervous, the shy reality of his personality shining so brightly Harry almost wanted to turn away because it was too much to look at. “We're really gonna do this?”

“Why would I leave _now_?” Harry countered, raising an eyebrow. Zayn would understand the subtext. They had both kept to their word so far – letting their indiscretions remain in the past where they belonged, but Harry felt like this was important, that Zayn had to _understand_. If Harry wanted to go, he would've done it already, just as Zayn would've left if he wanted to. They both had every reason to. And Harry was still so fucking upset with Zayn, in this deep, buried part of his heart that he was trying not to think too hard about or pick at, hopeful that it would heal on its own with enough time – angry that Zayn thought that he could blatantly lie to Harry's face, angry that Zayn treated Harry as though Harry was the type of person who would patiently wait in the wings while Zayn fucked his aggression out on strangers. But all of that being said, Harry wasn't sure if he could legitimately do without Zayn in his life. He certainly didn't want to. So he stayed – apologized for his own shit and tried to live with what Zayn had done in retaliation. And that was that. Everyone who judged the agreement they had reached and the world they had created with each other could go fuck themselves.

So maybe Louis was right – that time he was hinting at Zayn and Harry being abusive toward each other. Harry knew the signs, remembered the day going over domestic abuse in a high school Health class. And Harry knew that he and Zayn both talked to each other with a viciousness that he would find repulsive were he to see, say, Louis and Eleanor adopting. But Harry recognizing all of this, coldly, objectively, didn't necessarily change anything – didn't make Harry want to step out of the relationship. It was really fucked up, but Harry honestly couldn't imagine someone else making him so crudely happy. There was too much momentum here, too much magnetism drawing them together. What could they even do about it? Break up but still end up tumbling into bed together every chance they got? Break up and go to therapy individually and  _hope_ that in a few years they would be “better people” – whatever the hell that even meant? The only thing Harry hoped for was that they could learn how to embrace each other in a way that wasn't so fucking suffocating, although at this point Harry would probably miss the noose around his throat even if he learned to live without it.

They probably didn't  _deserve_ a happily ever after at this point, but Zayn always liked to mumble that if you really and truly want something, the universe would find a way of making it happen for you. And Harry knew enough about life to recognize that it tends to be shitty people that get everything they want, but would that mean he and Zayn could hope for their own slice of happiness? When you're the cancer in your own life, is the universe so generous as to give you a second chance? 

Harry knew on some level that he already had everything he wanted – he had Zayn, the man he had screamed and clawed at and cried over, but Harry still wanted _more_ . Harry wanted someone who could be  _everything_ for him – lover, best friend, mentor, confidante, the entirety of his universe in one human being, wouldn't be able to stop his self-sabotaging until he was sure that he and Zayn were actually one fucking soul in two bodies – but he was starting to wonder if it was fair to ask for so much. 

They were too much like Catherine and Heathcliff – they would both die before changing their fundamental characters, and anything less would cheapen all of the fucked up build-up, this messy entanglement of love and passion and emotional violence. Naked declarations under moonlight was easy. Following through, acting as though they were both capable of anything other than hurtling headfirst together down the side of a cliff – that was harder. But at least they both realized this about themselves – that they brandished their raw feelings like automatic weapons, that they treated relationships like artillery practice. Love was a battlefield and all that. That had to account for something, at least.

Because being with Zayn made Harry feel simultaneously powerless and invincible, like floating out in the ocean and suddenly realizing how terrifyingly far you are from the shore. They were in too deep, the last train had already exited the station, and they were fucked, because Zayn was – hell, he was Harry's match, in this indescribable, foolish way. Harry really couldn't explain it – how much he almost wanted to  _be_ Zayn, how sleeping and fighting with Zayn was almost like fucking himself in this strange masturbatory fashion. Maybe this entire relationship was just based on narcissism, both of them reaching for the good parts of themselves they recognized in the other and screaming at the bits that reminded them of everything that they wished they could hide. How did people live any other way? What did a healthy relationship even look like? Even good people lied and cheated – shit, look at Louis and Eleanor. Harry couldn't believe that his night with Louis was the only skeleton in their shared closet, and if anything came from the past few months, Harry had at least learned better, had maybe realized that fairy tales are just lies we tell children to shield them from their own horrific potentials. Harry no longer saw any need to lie to himself about who he was, how awful he could be, had fully accepted that he was a selfish, spoiled child, just as he embraced that Zayn was a liar and a cheat, and more than a little delusional when he wanted to be. Maybe Niall's way was the right one. Maybe healthy, sane, truly good people just told romance to wait at the fucking door, because there's little to gain from taking on someone else's demons. Little to gain – except for potentially everything.

Harry had embraced the monster underneath his bed and told it to come and lay down with him. And Zayn had done the same. And that was enough, that was everything, that was it.

Zayn understood what Harry meant with his statement and nodded, tilting his head to the bathroom as he pushed himself from where he had crouched over Harry on the bed. “I'll make you something while you get ready. What do you want?”

“Nothing fancy,” Harry said, getting up and walking to the closet, taking out his own suit set, running his hand over the plastic covering it. “Eggs and bagels, maybe?” 

“We've still got some fruit too,” Zayn replied, half to himself. “Whatever. See you in a few?” Harry nodded and Zayn walked over to Harry, brushing his lips against Harry's cheek. Harry blushed as Zayn walked away, wondering if he would always have that reaction to Zayn's presence, would always be in awe of the beautiful man he had fallen in love with. He hoped so.

 

Zayn had set out bagels, eggs, and a parfait for breakfast, and Harry ate before returning to the bathroom to do a quick shave job. He was spritzing on some cologne, his suit still hanging on the back of the bathroom door, when Zayn wandered into the bathroom, a blunt tucked behind his ear. Zayn sat on the toilet seat lid and promptly began jiggling his feet.

“Why are you so antsy?” Harry asked, kicking at Zayn's shoe as he turned to grab his pants. “It's making me nervous. Cut it out.”

“Shut up, Harry, I can't help it,” Zayn mumbled under his breath. “Would you mind if I spark up real quick?”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Can't you do it outside?”

“Wanna be in here with you. We can shotgun.”

Harry let out a long suffering sigh but ended up nodding anyway. He was feeling a bit nervous too, anxious like the way he used to get before going on stage for musicals in high school. Zayn grinned, reaching into his pocket to pull out a lighter. Harry pulled on his pants and stood in front of Zayn, in between his legs, waiting for Zayn to put the blunt in his mouth and get the spark to catch. Zayn's first inhale was long, his cheeks hollowing and his eyes fluttering shut lazily, and his shoulders seemed to relax immediately with it. Zayn opened his eyes and Harry crouched on his knees, crowding into Zayn's space and inhaling the stream of smoke Zayn breathed out. Harry hummed as the marijuana smoke rattled around his lungs and let out his own easy breath, kissing Zayn chastely on the lips before standing and pulling on an undershirt.

“You're so fucking hot, Harry, damn,” Zayn said, watching Harry closely as he got dressed. “Just so hot.”

Harry rolled his eyes and turned to grab his button-down. “Keep looking at me like that and we won't get to the Courthouse on time.”

“Looking at you like what?” Zayn asked, taking another long pull before standing up to crowd behind Harry, stubbing the blunt out on the side of the sink. Zayn really needed to gain a greater respect for their furniture and shit.

“Like that,” Harry said, turning and pushing at Zayn's shoulders playfully. “Like you wanna rip my clothes off.”

“I do, though,” Zayn mumbled, running his hands up Harry's sides. “Like all the time.”

Harry turned around fully and let Zayn lean in and bracket Harry against the sink. Harry tried to force down the thought of the last time Zayn had guided Harry against the counter top – during that huge fight. They'd fucked since, of course but not – not here, not in the bathroom, against the sink. And Zayn seemed to realize the same thing at the same moment, his eyes clouding over briefly, his face difficult to read. But just like that, a blink, and it was gone, Zayn leaning in and kissing Harry sweetly, chastely, almost as if he believed he could change the past through a simple meeting of lips. Almost as if he could make everything right just by  _holding Harry_ right, by carding his hands through Harry's curls and pulling him closer, opening his mouth and curling his tongue around Harry's, swallowing down Harry's gasps and hissing pleas for more. Because Harry always wanted more, was never content with just kissing and not having it lead anywhere. It was something he had wanted to work on – enjoying foreplay for what it was, enjoying it on its own merits instead of barreling full speed ahead to the moment where he was on his knees. 

But Zayn pulled away before it could get too heated, licking his lips and causing Harry to mimic the gesture. “I should – I should let you get ready.”

“But I was _just_ getting ready,” Harry said, leaning forward to capture Zayn's lips again, but Zayn was giggling too much for it to be anything more than a press of skin. 

“No, really,” Zayn mumbled, skittering his hands over Harry's face. “We'll have all afternoon to fuck, right? And the rest of our lives after that.”

“Right,” Harry echoed, grabbing Zayn's wandering hand and bringing it to his mouth, kissing the tips of every finger. “I can wait.”

Zayn snorted and pulled away, leaving Harry to put on the rest of his suit.

 

Harry's previous references for City Hall marriages were the first Sex and the City movie and a few news clips when San Francisco's mayor had first made same-sex marriages legal when Harry was still in school. So Harry had this kind of glamorized version in his head, but the actual experience was really rather dull, wouldn't have been particularly noteworthy if it weren't for the fact that it was _his_ life and not just images on a television screen.

Zayn and Harry got to the Clerk Recorder's Office right when it opened, and waited in line for something like 15 minutes in order to fill out the forms to obtain a marriage license. After they had finished with that, they went to wait for their marriage ceremony slot at 10AM. By that point, Louis and Eleanor showed up, Eleanor explaining that she left Riley with the sitter again because the baby had been acting up and Eleanor didn't trust for her to not start screaming in the middle of the vows, and then it was another half an hour or so before Zayn and Harry were able to actually get their turn in front of the Justice of the Peace, a petite woman with a blinding, comforting smile that just seemed to glow brighter at the sight of Zayn and Harry. She directed a quick question to Zayn in another language – Harry guessed Urdu or Hindi, but Zayn was conversational in like six languages and any of them were possible – and Zayn took only a moment to look surprised before he answered her just as lightning fast, a huge smile lighting across both of their faces, the two of them sharing a moment that Harry would forget to ask about, later.

For an event that Harry had been looking forward to with a singular, focused intensity for every day of the past two years, the actual ceremony passed in a blur, going by laughably fast. Zayn and Harry had opted for the Signed, Sealed, and Expedited Package, mostly because it was cheaper and they were too lazy, too selfish, too whatever to properly invite people besides the requisite witnesses. But Harry could remember holding Zayn's hands in his own, looking up to meet Zayn's eyes and melting at his smile, the one where his eyes literally fucking sparkled and he pushed his tongue up against his teeth. Harry knew he had to be grinning like an idiot too – he hardly even heard the Justice of the Peace as she read off the vows, somehow managed to say “I do,” to each one even though he hardly felt his mouth move. And then with trembling fingers he slipped a ring onto Zayn's finger and felt Zayn slide another band on top of the one he had already bought for Harry – and Harry didn't remember discussing  _that_ , had assumed that he would just be using his engagement ring as his wedding ring but fuck, that was so sweet of Zayn – and that was sort of it, Zayn and Harry wrapping themselves around each other and laughing into the kiss. Louis and Eleanor barreled over to hug them too and stupidly, incredibly naively, all Harry could think was, “I don't feel that much different.” But they were  _married_ .

Harry was probably going to vomit, he was so happy.

 

Louis and Eleanor wanted to go somewhere nice to celebrate the occasion – well, _Eleanor_ really wanted to go somewhere nice, considering she had bought a pink open-back Kate Spade dress just for the special occasion. But Zayn and Louis were strangely insistent about getting a pizza and while Harry could've gone for a nice sit-down restaurant and a steak, pizza was nice too – fuck, doing anything with Zayn was nice, especially when he kept running his hands up Harry's sides like Zayn couldn't get enough of him, wedding ring glinting in the sun. So Louis and Eleanor went down to Cheeseboard, a fancier pizza place in Berkeley's Gourmet Ghetto, and picked up the daily offering, while Harry and Zayn drove to the BevMo in Downtown Oakland and bought champagne, sparkling wine, and a few bottles of red. They all met back at Harry and Zayn's apartment, sitting around, eating pizza, and watching Marvel movies until all of the food was gone and Eleanor was ridiculously, happily drunk, barefoot and sprawled across the couch in only her bra and Spanx because “It's so hot in your apartment oh my fucking shitty Jesus,” much to the chagrin of Louis, who eventually convinced her to put her Kate Spade dress back on in order for them to go home and relieve the sitter of her duties.

“Love ya both tons,” Eleanor said, tottering unsteadily on her heels as Louis attempted to steer her out of the apartment. Zayn kept eying her ankles wearily, seemingly waiting for Eleanor to fall over at any minute, and Harry had to stifle a snicker behind his hands. “Break the headboards. Go crazy. Fuck lots. Annoy the neighbors – no, invite the neighbors. Make a movie. Kink.com.”

It was really strange hearing Louis-esque advice coming from Eleanor's typically demure mouth, but Harry supposed there was a reason why they had been together for as long as they had. “Let's leave them to it, love,” Louis murmured softly. “C'mon now.”

“You should use that knife set we gave you, too!” Eleanor continued, even as Louis essentially dragged her into the hallway. “And – and some candles! Waxplay is really fun. I recommend it, if you haven't already, and if you wanna send me some pictures – ”

“Okay, yes, we're leaving, goodnight!” Louis yelled loudly, grabbing the door and slamming it behind them. Harry finally let out the cackle he had been holding back, and Zayn laughed with him, laying his head on Harry's shoulder, his own shoulders shaking with mirth.

“She's gonna be regretting all of that in the morning,” Zayn said, running his hand through his hair and shaking his head softly. “Was she really telling us to send her some pictures?”

Harry shrugged, but not before parroting her voice, snickering, “Make a movie. Kink.com.” Zayn laughed again and Harry couldn't help himself, leaned in to kiss Zayn mid-giggle because he _could_ , because Zayn was his forever. Harry had it in writing and everything.

“She did give pretty good advice,” Zayn said, running his hand underneath the button-down Harry was still wearing for some reason. Why were they both still fully dressed? Harry in his entire suit minus the jacket, whereas Zayn had only undone a couple of buttons of his dress shirt, his tie loose around his neck. Harry felt like he was living every teenager's Hogwarts-inspired fantasy when he wrapped his hands around Zayn's tie and yanked him forward, hungrily latching his mouth onto Zayn's and making quick work of Zayn's tie and shirt as Zayn eagerly returned the kiss. Zayn's fingers were equally deft, his hands skittering down Harry's chest before he was yanking at the sleeves, chanting, “Off, off, off.” Harry obliged with another smile, throwing his button-down somewhere into the kitchen. Harry had opted for a bow tie instead of a regular one, and Zayn made quick work of that too before stepping back just enough for Harry to toss off his undershirt, mirroring Harry's movements before putting a hand to Harry's chest and guiding him back to their bedroom.

“Should we take Eleanor's advice?” Zayn asked with an absolutely filthy grin once Harry climbed onto their bed, peeling his slacks off and tossing them across the room until he was only in his briefs. “Make a movie? Use some toys?”

“Whatever you want,” Harry said, licking his lips and palming himself briefly through his underwear. “Whatever – we can do it every way you want forever – ”

“Fuck, Harry,” Zayn laughed, giddy with it. They were so stupid, deliriously happy as Zayn met Harry on the bed, tackling Harry onto his back and peeling off what little clothing they were both wearing. They took their time with each other, kissing lazily and letting their legs tangle, and Harry couldn't remember the last time it had been so sweet and boyish, almost, probably not since that ridiculous summer weekend Zayn had hidden out at the old apartment so long ago, or maybe not since Zayn had finally left Perrie and got in the car with Harry and Harry just kind of drove, stopping off at China Beach in San Francisco because it was the only place Harry could think to go, the spot his mom used to take them when she needed to amuse Harry and Gem for a few hours and give herself some time to _think_ , Harry and Zayn just silently watching the waves ebb and flow, Harry desperately attempting to give Zayn his space before Zayn leaned into Harry's side, sighing as the sun slowly set. This was nothing like either of those moments and just like them, Harry letting Zayn set the pace, Harry letting Zayn find his way. Harry was eager to please, anxious for everything that was waiting in store but telling himself that he could be patient for it, for all that Zayn had to give. Harry still couldn't entirely register that this was _his_ life, that this was official in every way that something could be, that nothing had changed and yet everything had, and they were reaffirming the commitment in the best way they knew how, their favorite way to communicate most complex emotions, through a melding of bodies, a meeting of skin. And it was primal, the way Zayn marked Harry's body with his teeth against Harry's neck and an iron grip against his hips, his fingers crooking into Harry before he replaced them with his cock, and Harry fucking loved it, loved _him_ , wanton in how badly he wanted to make Zayn see that he had made the right choice, the only choice.

They didn't make a tape – they didn't invite the neighbors. It was a moment just for the two of them, like how it was supposed to be. But they did end up breaking the headboard.

 

Harry couldn't remember whose idea it was to actually commit to going to Vegas – probably Zayn's, since he was the one who kept threatening to elope there. Zayn had propositioned the idea as a simple Spring Break getaway slash delayed honeymoon trip, but then he told Waliyha about it, minus the honeymoon thing because nobody really knew yet – Harry and Zayn guarding this one secret jealously – and she exclaimed very loudly about how much she loved Vegas and said she would arrange to be there at the same time while also asking if Louis was coming, so Zayn invited Louis, who naturally asked if Eleanor was welcome, and then Harry mentioned it to Niall, who took to texting Harry “Vegas?” at random intervals throughout the day until Harry relented and formally invited Niall, who invited his newest fuck buddy – Harry honestly couldn't remember her name no matter how hard he tried – and Liam, who was bringing along Sophia, who also happened to creepily know and be very good friends with Gemma, and then Gemma got upset that Harry wasn't inviting her when Zayn was bringing Waliyha, so Harry asked Gemma if she wanted to come, and she informed Harry that her sugar daddy had already swung to get them a block of SkyLofts at the MGM Grand.

“How do you know so many rich people?” Zayn asked when Harry told him about the most recent development regarding their accommodations for the four day stay. They were both lounging on the couch in their living room, Harry watching reruns of Love & Hip-Hop: Atlanta with his feet in Zayn's lap while Zayn graded some papers, looking smart and sexy with his glasses perched on his nose. Harry strongly pushed down the urge to lick his face. “That's got to be what – a cool $20 grand, just on rooms?”

Harry shrugged. “Technically, I don't know him – I still haven't met her Daddy.”

Zayn shook his head and let out a long exhale. “I just – man. There's so much you could do with $20,000 instead of buying some overpriced shit in Vegas. I could pay down my student loans.”

Harry snorted and rested his head against Zayn's collarbone. “Could get us pretty far on a new car, too.”

“All new furniture,” Zayn replied, placing his grading on the coffee table and running his hands up Harry's legs. “A new headboard.”

Harry's laugh turned into a groan. It had been weeks but Harry and Zayn still hadn't replaced their bed frame. A small part of Harry was thinking that they should probably wait until they decided whether they were even going to stay in this apartment or not. Harry still wanted to move to San Francisco and he knew Zayn did, too – it was just a matter of finding something affordable, and San Francisco was _not_ an affordable city.

“So, like, I have to ask you something,” Zayn said, looking up from his laptop, his gaze attentive and penetrating. “Like – we still haven't told anyone about us getting married, really. And I know Waliyha and Gemma have both been talking it up as a bachelor party sort of thing so like – do we roll with it? How long do we want to keep this our secret?”

They hadn't really talked about it – it had just been something they naturally fell into. Not telling anyone. Harry thought it was romantic, actually, something just for the two of them to revel in, enjoy. A little bit of mystery in a world that rewarded oversharing. But it wasn't like Harry felt either of them would deny it, if it came up – it just hadn't, was the thing. Harry and Zayn were both wearing their wedding rings, they had hung out with their other friends and none of them had noticed. Maybe everyone assumed Harry had just got Zayn an engagement ring, too. They weren't hiding it. They just weren't bragging about it.

Harry shrugged. “We'll talk about it if it comes up, I guess,” Harry said. “I don't – I just don't want it to be this big thing, you know? Like it already happened.”

“People are gonna be upset we didn't invite them.” Zayn didn't say it accusingly – it was just a fact, one that Harry still didn't want to think about too hard. He knew his mom was going to be really disappointed with him once she found out, same as Gem and the rest of his family. But at the same time, the thought of a huge wedding, stressing over whether his mother was _really_ proud of him instead of concentrating on Zayn and trying to make sure it was a day for he and Zayn to remember – fuck, Harry just knew he had made the right choice.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “But they'll be with us then so like – who cares? What does it matter? They've got this trip. The other moment was ours.”

Zayn hummed, seemingly content with Harry's answer. Harry grinned, glad he passed a test he didn't even know he was taking.

 

For some silly, naïve reason, Harry had assumed that this Spring Break trip to Vegas would actually be fun, an opportunity to hang out with some of his favorite people in the world, an excuse to lay up in a suite he wasn't paying for with the love of his fucking life. Because Harry wasn't a good person but good people didn't necessarily get what they want, what they deserved, and Harry somehow lucked into getting _everything_ , lucked into winning at life's roulette table, still heady with the secret that Zayn had promised with everything to love Harry forever, just as Harry had already swore, over and over, in every way he knew how. This was supposed to be his moment – of course they would have a good time in Vegas. It might not have been the one place in the world Harry wanted to go, but they would have fun.

It was a given. _Of course_.

 

The trip over wasn't much to talk about. Flights out of Oakland to Vegas were quick and painless, no more than an hour and a half. Gemma and her sugar daddy were taking a different airline, one with first class amenities, naturally, and Waliyha was already in Sin City, having flown in from LAX earlier in the day. So it was Harry and Zayn, Louis and Eleanor, Liam and Sophia, and finally Niall and the girl Harry honestly couldn't remember the name of, all together on one of Southwest's shitty planes, everyone rowdy and ready to party. Niall and Eleanor were already liquored up because they challenged each other to a made-up margarita game while they waited around for their flight, laughing and cackling across the aisle to each other every few minutes once they finally boarded the plane.

Even the ride from the airport to the MGM – that wasn't much of anything either, at least by raucous Vegas standards. Harry, Louis, and Liam all threw in some cash to hire a limo to take them over, and even though it was only something like a fifteen minute drive to the hotel, it was plenty of time for Niall and Eleanor to continue their drinking game, and enough for Harry to enjoy his own glass of Prosecco from the limo's bar. Once they got to the MGM and received all of the information about reaching their suites, it was decided that they would take naps, shower, whatever was necessary to get ready for a night on the town that included dinner and a club, at the bare minimum. Zayn was practically dead on his feet by this point, so Harry steered them to their own suite, and they both tossed off all of their clothes before falling into bed, not even taking the time to look around their monstrous suite.

So things didn't really start to get weird until dinnertime.

Gemma had booked a reservation for everyone at Emeril's restaurant inside the hotel. Harry wasn't huge on seafood, Zayn looked like he would've preferred to still be asleep, and both Niall and Eleanor had used the downtime to continue drinking, teetering on the edge between sloppy drunk and absolutely useless, and Louis and Liam seemed eager to meet them there, but otherwise, everyone seemed excited to be out, even Gemma's sugar daddy, an older man with blonde hair and gray eyes who looked at Gemma like she was the center of the universe.

It wasn't until their dinner plates were cleared and Gemma had put in a desert order for another bottle that Eleanor turned to Zayn and Harry, quirking an eyebrow and holding up her own glass.

“So I'm going to propose a toast,” Eleanor said, her words remarkably clear considering the amount of alcohol she had thrown into her body over the course of the day. Harry was starting to become really concerned, even though he wasn't sure how to approach the situation. “To two of my favorite boys in the whole universe, my Zayn and Harry.”

“Awww!” Niall cooed before bursting into laughter, causing the rest of the table to chuckle as well. Niall's good mood was always infectious. Eleanor looked at him with a small pout.

“Don't mock my feelings,” she whined. “They _are_ two of my favorite people. I cried like a baby when they got married.”

It was comical, almost – the way all of the other conversation at the table skidded to a halt, everyone's eyes turning to Zayn and Harry where they were sitting at the middle of the table. Zayn shrugged and held up his left hand, the wedding band gleaming and beautiful on his ring finger, before turning to smirk at Eleanor, who grinned around at everyone else with a small self-satisfied smile.

“You motherfuckers!” Gemma yelled, throwing her napkin onto the table, right as Waliyha let out an excited screech and pushed herself away from the table to run around and hug Zayn. Liam frowned at Harry, as did Sophia, and Niall and his girl just looked confused, exchanging bewildered expressions.

“You two got married and only told Louis and Eleanor?” Niall asked, turning to Harry and narrowing his eyes. The rest of the table was still in a bit of chaos, so nobody was really paying attention to their conversation, Gemma cursing loudly and colorfully, Liam still frowning, and Waliyha and Zayn doing a strange little dance away from the table. Zayn was a huge dork and it was truly no surprise that his sister was, too. “When?”

“Last month, after my birthday,” Harry answered, knowing his tone was just on this side of challenging. He had been tense around Niall lately – always felt like he had to prove something.

“You've been married for a month and didn't tell anyone,” Niall clarified. “Didn't even tell Gemma?”

Harry shrugged and Niall nodded, furiously chewing the inside of his mouth before raising his glass and silently toasting Harry.

A small part of Harry was still ready for a fight, but another part felt like he had fucked up, somehow. Niall didn't look at Harry again for the rest of dinner.

 

Liam had actually planned out the rest of the night's festivities, so they headed to Tao Nightclub at the Venetian, where Liam had gotten them a table and bottle service. It was a good thing, because the club was ridiculously packed, hot and sweaty, the heat completely ruining the Rat Pack, suit and tie effect the boys had all vowed on maintaining during this trip. Well, it didn't ruin the effect for Zayn – he unbuttoned his shirt and rolled up his sleeves, loosening his tie and letting his hair do as it pleased, looking like an artfully disheveled Gucci model. And people  _noticed_ , of course they fucking did, even when Zayn was holding Harry's hand and tugging him through the club, girls stopping Zayn to put manicured hands on his chest or shoulder, to whisper drunken nothings in his ear.

Harry wasn't jealous, except for how he absolutely was. Zayn didn't even  _like_ going out, but he was seemingly having a great time, arm slung over Louis' as they had a dance battle over who could be the most uncoordinated, stopping only when girls came over to talk to them, and Harry couldn't even really remember the last time he had a proper drink, but the bottle service girl came over with Goose and Patr ó n and Zayn had disappeared into the crowd and came back with a beer for Harry and a number from the bartender written in lipstick that he kept brandishing like this huge joke and so Harry took his beer, and then took a couple of shots. And then Liam came with another beer for Harry, so Harry watched another fucking sloppy girl come over to Zayn and try to talk to him, Zayn turning her down with a smug, satisfied smile, and Harry took another few shots.

Harry worked himself up into being really annoyed and really drunk by the time Niall came over to him, red-faced, sweaty, and absolutely fucked up, and pulled Harry into a hug.

“Love you, Haz,” Niall mumbled, running his hands through Harry's hair.

“I love you too, Niall.”

“I think what you and Zayn did was kinda fucked up, although I understand why you did it the way you guys did,” Niall continued, yelling almost directly into Harry's ear over the thudding music. “I just wish you would've thought to invite me, you know?”

“It's not like that, Niall – ” Harry protested.

“No, no, lemme just say this while I'm too fucked up to think about it, yeah?” Niall said with a sad little smile. “I get the 'us against the world' thing. I get that you guys wanted to have something for yourselves. That's all – I know all about that. But the fact that you guys would only tell Louis and Eleanor _really_ hurts my fucking feelings, because he's the one person here who really fucked up and got over-involved in your guys' shit.”

“He's Zayn's best friend, Niall. He always will be.”

“I like Louis, I really do,” Niall said. “But he's a fucking dick for what he did with you, and it's not like Eleanor doesn't know what happened – ”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, frowning. 

“Exactly what I said,” Niall answered. “Why do you think I've been hanging out with her all day? We've been talking about you, Lou, and Zayn.”

Harry didn't even begin to know what to say, was already working on forgetting all about this conversation so he didn't ever have to deal with the guilty, rolling feeling in his stomach.

“But that's like – that's something you need to talk to her about,” Niall continued. “What _I'm_ trying to say is that you know I would've come to support you.”

Harry shook his head. “You haven't seemed the most supportive lately.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Niall asked, frowning at Harry. “Just because I don't blindly go along with everything you and Zayn do like Louis does? Because I fucking tell you guys when you're being destructive fuckers?”

“It's not like that – ”

“It's exactly like that,” Niall said, shaking his head. “But whatever. If that's how you feel.” His voice was small when he let go of Harry and looked down at his feet. “It already happened.”

Harry shrugged, taking another swig of his beer. “Yeah, I mean. It did.”

Niall finished off his own drink, setting it down on the table. “Well, congratulations or whatever. I've got $75 on it lasting two years, so hopefully you let me down.”

Harry was absolutely rooted to the spot, gaping at Niall as he turned and walked over to the girls, nudging his date and leaving the club. It wasn't like Niall to be intentionally cruel – it just wasn't in his nature but that – that was really fucking mean. Harry wanted to cry – wanted to go home, really, but he was 550 miles away. He just drank more instead.

 

They were still really drunk by the time they piled into a taxi and were driven back to the hotel. Everyone slowly peeled off to go back to their own suites, but Eleanor was too drunk to even function, Waliyha taking her into her room with a long-suffering sigh, and Louis was equally useless, leaning all over Zayn and laughing obnoxiously. Harry was still more than a little annoyed, had looked forward to getting back to their room and ripping Zayn's suit off and burning off some of this negative energy, but he tried to pretend like he didn't mind when Zayn brought Louis into their suite, pushing Louis onto the bed and walking into the bathroom to fill up a cup of water for Louis to drink. Harry threw himself on the bed next to Louis, frowning when Louis rolled over and pulled Harry into a hug. Harry couldn't even remember the last time Louis had even really touched him – guessed it must've been at the wedding, but even that had been a fleeting gesture. This hug was a good one, crushing in all the right ways.

“Love you, Styles,” Louis mumbled into Harry's stiff shoulder.

“Uh, love you too, Tomlinson,” Harry answered, frowning when Zayn entered the room again and grinned. Harry did not trust that smile – it was too predatory. Zayn was up to something.

“Here, sit up, Lou,” Zayn said, pulling Louis up by the shoulder and handing him the cup of water. Louis accepted it gratefully and drank it all in one long gulp, handing the cup back to Zayn, who put it on the ground next to the edge of the bed. “We should play a game,” Zayn said next, grinning between Harry and Louis. Harry spared himself a brief thought – he and Louis, Zayn's two favorite people in the world – but then squashed it down, too suspicious of whatever Zayn was thinking.

“I love games!” Louis exclaimed, arms akimbo in his drunken flailing. “Truth or Dare? Never Have I Ever?”

“No, no,” Harry protested. “We should all just go to bed.”

“We're already in bed,” Louis snorted, waggling his eyebrows. “Should we play a game there?”

Zayn laughed, his eyes twinkling with his mirth. “Aw, I love you so much, Lou.”

“That's nice,” Harry said, trying to squash down the feeling of discomfort prickling up his spine. “Take him back to his fiancee.”

Zayn shrugged. “In a little.”

Harry could feel his exasperation rising. “ _Zayn_ , c'mon. I just wanted to go to bed.”

“Go to sleep if you want to go to sleep,” Zayn answered, his face difficult to read. “Nobody's stopping you.”

“No, Zayn,” Harry tried again, enunciating clearly even as desperation painted his tone. “I want to go to _bed_.”

Zayn raised an eyebrow in interest, the edge of a smirk appearing on his face, but Louis had already rolled over onto his side, loudly sighing and flailing his arms all in Harry's face. “You're no fun, young Harold. Zayn's the fun one.”

For some reason, it was that comment out of everything that did it. “You weren't saying that when I had your cock in my mouth,” Harry spat. He wasn't even sure _why_ he said it and he regretted it instantaneously, the mood in the room shifting as Louis' eyes bulged out of his head and Zayn went very still where he was standing in front of them.

“Okay, yeah, I'm going,” Louis mumbled, standing up and patting his pants for his keycard. “I'll see you both in the morning.”

“See you, Louis,” Harry said, frowning to himself and stubbornly refusing to meet Zayn's gaze. Louis closed the door behind him with a dull thud, and Zayn walked over to Harry, sitting on the floor in front of him and worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

“So is it just like – we don't talk about what you two did at all, or we don't talk about it until it becomes a convenient dagger to throw out when you're pissed?” Zayn asked, his voice calm even as his eyes flashed. “Just so we can be clear.”

“I'm sorry,” Harry mumbled. “I don't know why I said it.”

“Yeah you do,” Zayn hissed. “You said it to hurt Louis and me.”

“You hurt me all the time.” It sounded weak, even to his own ears, even though it was true.

“Harry, I just fucking married you!” Zayn yelled. “We are on what is essentially our honeymoon _right now_!”

“I know!” Harry said, running his fingers through his hair and tugging at the roots a little, the sting of pain enough to bring him down from the high emotional peak he was rapidly approaching. “Believe me, Zayn, I know! I'm trying! And _I'm sorry_.”

“No, you're not,” Zayn scoffed. “Stop apologizing for shit you aren't in the least bit sorry about. And you act like you're the only one who gets to have feelings. It's fucked up and childish.”

“Yes, yes, everything wrong with this relationship is my fault,” Harry spat out. “It's not like you didn't go out and fuck a random just to get back at me.”

“Harry, I did not fuck a random,” Zayn hissed. “And you promised not to bring it up!”

Harry didn't even bother to mention the fact that Zayn bringing up the promise was basically proof that yes, Zayn put his dick somewhere he shouldn't have. It was so obvious – too obvious. “Yeah, and you promised that you would never give me cause to worry about you cheating, and that shit went out the window the minute you got mad at me, so whatever!”

Harry could tell that particular comment hit a nerve, even if he wasn't sure why, because Zayn's jaw twitched and he turned and stalked out of the room without a backwards glance. He was probably going to go bitch to Louis – have a little confab about how stupid Harry was. Harry was almost glad they were in a sterile hotel room and not their own bedroom because he didn't want to pay for anything he broke in an attempt to throw something at the door as it closed.

 

Harry woke up slowly the next day, the edges of an already forgotten dream blurring into nothingness as he stirred. Light was streaming through the bedroom, and Harry was warm and comfortable underneath the large down comforter, his limbs reluctant to move as he turned to reach for Zayn and found the other side of the bed empty. Just like that, all of the memories of the previous night came crashing down upon Harry and he frowned, sitting up properly, and looked across the room, spying that the small patio door was open, sending hot beams of sunshine into the suite. Harry wrapped the comforter around his body and trudged out of the room and onto the patio, clearing out his throat awkwardly when Zayn turned at the sound of Harry's footsteps. They had a tremendous view of the strip, casinos every which way, and then beyond that, endless desert, and the moment in and of itself was almost perfect – Zayn sitting shirtless on an old rickety chair, his skin already tanner than it had been a day before, a cigarette in hand as he gazed at Harry, his expression giving nothing away as the dry desert breeze ruffled his un-styled hair.

“Morning,” Zayn greeted and Harry smiled warily at him, croaked out his own greetings. “You're beautiful, you know.”

Harry laughed, was expecting some sort of continuation of the previous night. “That's amazing, coming from you, Greek god that you are,” Harry answered, pulling the comforter tighter around himself and hovering awkwardly in front of Zayn before Zayn just shrugged and pulled Harry into his lap, tapping a pattern against a sliver of skin that wasn't covered by blanket. Zayn took a pull from his cigarette, blowing it away from Harry, before putting it out on the side of the patio and running his cold nose along Harry's neck.

“I've been thinking,” Zayn started. “You know I love you right?”

“Of course I do,” Harry said, playing with his wedding band. It was really nice – Harry still couldn't believe Zayn had bought him another ring when he didn't need to. “And I love you too. So much.”

Zayn nodded. “And this is nice, right? Like, this moment, right now?”

“Yeah,” Harry answered, burrowing down further into Zayn's arms. “Really nice. Relaxing. Perfect – being with you. It always is.”

Zayn nodded and ducked his head, kissing Harry's shoulder. “We can have this all the time now, you know. This moment – we have to carve out these moments for ourselves. And stop with the bullshit.”

“'Course,” Harry mumbled. “I don't – okay, no that was going to be a lie.”

Zayn pushed at Harry's underside with his thigh. “What were you gonna say?”

“That I don't like it when we fight, but that's a lie,” Harry admitted. “I _do_ like fighting with you. Sometimes it's a lot of fun.”

Zayn laughed. “Yeah, and I like fighting with you, too, sometimes. But not like – not like the way it's been. Banter is cool – 'specially when it ends in sex. That's all great. But the fight last night wasn't fun, and now Lou and Eleanor think we're fucking nuts again and like. Maybe we'll just keep the fights to between you and I? For real this time. We honestly need to stop dragging other people into it.”

Harry nodded, sealing the promise by turning around and kissing Zayn. “Yeah. Yeah, I totally agree. Let's do that.”

 

It would only be another few hours before everything went to hell again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr](http://catholicschoolgirl.tumblr.com/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/xtracalidopechk)


	8. Part Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A beat of silence, and then Zayn scoffed to himself, kept whatever remark bottled inside, and pulled Harry back in, kissing him determinedly before tugging Harry back towards the hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, to Fee and Emily. And thanks to all of you who've been so great to me over the past few months. This story has been my monster demon baby ripped out of the womb by a vampire, and I'm so glad you've not all gotten the pitchforks out. 
> 
> I realized I don't know how to count, so this fic is now ten chapters plus an epilogue. Please pray for my sanity.

Harry and Zayn spent most of the next day lazing around – Zayn sleeping for a truly obscene chunk of the day while Harry and Niall went down to the pool, goofed off and pretended like the previous night didn't happen. The entire group got together for brunch, and then Harry and Zayn cuddled and took a nap until Louis woke them up with insistent knocking on their suite door to tell them that all of the boys were going out to a strip club while the girls headed down to the Britney Spears show. Zayn didn't want to go out, making puppy dog eyes at Harry and mumbling things like, “Let's just order some room service and stay in,” and Harry didn't really want to go to some strip club, either, if he was being completely honest with himself. But Louis was a persuasive shit, alternating pouting with outright begging, and Harry didn't want to let anyone down, so he made Zayn get properly ready – sticking with the Rat Pack theme of the previous night – and then they were off.

That probably should've been a sign, but Harry brushed it off.

Harry didn't really have much of an opinion on gentlemen's clubs, figured they were fine, so he got himself a handful of ones and decided to stick to Zayn's side all night while Gemma's guy, Louis, Niall, and Liam all flocked toward the center of the club, hooting and yelling and overall acting like complete and utter idiots. Zayn and Harry hung back before making their way toward one of the smaller stages, a gorgeous girl with wavy brown hair immediately sauntering over to them and plastering herself all over Zayn. Harry couldn't even find the energy to be jealous over someone who was paid to feign sexual interest and attraction, still emotionally drained from the previous night, and Zayn looked so uncomfortable, repeatedly telling the girl that he was here with his husband and no, he did not want a private lapdance. Eventually the girl shrugged, yelled something about it being Zayn's loss, and Harry put several one's into her thong as a consolation before turning to laugh into Zayn's shoulder.

“I wanna go back to the hotel,” Zayn huffed, obviously miffed. “This is dumb. They're not even playing good music.”

They weren't, really, but what would Zayn have preferred –  _Take Care_ on a loop? Harry shrugged. “Yeah, but we can't just ditch out on an activity that was partially planned for us.”

“Nobody was planning this for _us_ ,” Zayn scoffed, gesturing to where Gemma's guy and Louis were making it rain on a dancer doing the splits on the main stage. “Let's just go.”

“Zayn,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “We can't just _leave_.”

“Everyone's half expecting us to,” Zayn reasoned. “Nobody was tasked with making sure we stayed with the group. They're not even tripping off us.” 

Harry looked back over at his friends and sighed, nodding slowly. They had probably only been out for something like an hour tops but it was obvious that neither of them were really into it. Harry hadn't been feeling up for most of this trip, if he was being completely honest with himself. Harry knew that Zayn and everyone else loved Sin City, but Harry was quickly determining that Vegas was too overwhelming – too bright, too shiny, too plastic, too  _distracting_ . And he kept feeling the pressure to drink way too much, to smoke too much of the weed Zayn and Louis had smuggled, to call up one of Nick's friends who lived out here for a gram. And fuck, that last one was the hardest one to force out of his head once it had wiggled its way in. Harry hadn't had coke in his system for a while now, not since Zayn had dumped his stash out, but he couldn't think of anything more tantalizing than doing a line and getting on his knees for his Daddy. It probably would've been better for Harry's sanity if they had hung out in Napa or something, gone horseback riding before Harry got up to ride Zayn. 

“Yeah, we can go.”

Zayn pulled Harry up from his seat and they waited outside to grab a cab, loitering around long enough for Zayn to lazily light a cigarette and strike up a conversation with a girl who had just finished her shift and was also waiting for a cab home. Girls were _always_ coming up to talk to Zayn in this hellish desert city and it was fucking annoying, Harry forced to remember he wasn't the only one who could appreciate Zayn's beauty, his laugh and smile. Harry knew that Zayn was a fucking catch and that Harry was lucky to have him, and he was  _trying_ not to get possessive, especially considering how he had freaked out the night before, but he could feel himself tensing up and glaring at the girl. A cab finally came around and Zayn said goodbye to his new friend while Harry pulled Zayn into the cab, Harry laying his head on Zayn's shoulder when they were finally both seated.

“Can you take us to the New York-New York?” Zayn asked the cab driver, who nodded shortly.

Harry turned to look at Zayn, pouting in confusion even with his head still on Zayn's shoulder. “But we're staying at the MGM.”

“They're like, right down the block from each other,” Zayn said with a shrug. “Plus I wanna show you something, okay? Something to get you to relax a little, you possessive shit.”

Harry continued to pout but Zayn tilted the shoulder Harry was laying on and kissed him, reaching down to interlace their fingers. When Zayn pulled away, Harry knew he must've looked like a soppy mess, could feel the gooey, silly smiley on his face.

The cab driver dropped them off in front of the New York-New York, an absolutely garish hotel that hurt Harry's eyes when he compared it to MGM's sleek opulence, and Zayn grabbed Harry's hand and led him through the casino, rebuffing all of Harry's questions. “Just wait ten seconds, Harry,” Zayn said. “Or pay attention to the signs, it's pretty obvious where I'm taking you.”

Harry turned to read one of the signs in front of them, indicating that the arcade and roller-coaster were both dead ahead.

“We're going on a roller-coaster?” Harry asked excitedly, clapping Zayn's shoulder. “There's a roller-coaster inside of a casino? That's _sick_!”

Zayn rolled his eyes but didn't say anything, instead pulling Harry into the small waiting area in front of the arcade and paying for both of their tickets. There was a line, but it moved quickly, and next thing Harry knew he was being strapped into the little car next to Zayn, grinning and jiggling his feet excitedly. Zayn was outright laughing at him by this point but Harry found he didn't care, instead leaning over to kiss Zayn high on his cheek with a murmured, “Thanks, love.”

Zayn blushed but he kissed Harry back, murmuring, “Pay attention – we're moving now.”

The ride was quick and cold, Harry screaming loudly and obnoxiously as they whipped through the air. When they were done, Zayn's quiff was all fucked up, so Harry held back his own laugh and rummaged through the Mr Porter backpack he had been carrying around the whole trip, emerging triumphantly with a beanie that he squashed onto Zayn's head. They went to go look at the pictures that had been taken during the ride, Harry's hair vaguely resembling a lion's mane as he screamed with his eyes closed while Zayn looked politely bored next to him, even as his own hair whipped around him, and it was so funny that they shelled out the cash for the ridiculously overpriced image, Harry stashing it into his backpack before linking his fingers with Zayn's again.

“Let's just walk down the strip,” Zayn said as they made their way back out of the arcade and into the casino. “You've never done that, right?”

“I remember we flew into Vegas when we went hiking once,” Harry said. “But no, not like – I didn't get to enjoy all of _this_ , you know?” 

“There were a few years in a row where I came to Vegas for every one of my birthdays,” Zayn admitted. “Louis', too. I almost wanted to live out here, I loved it so much.”

“Why didn't you?”

By now they were back outside. It was mild, thankfully not overbearingly hot the way Harry was sure the desert was in the summer, just a nice, pleasant breeze ruffling his hair as Zayn steered them outside of the parking lot and towards the street, a contemplative expression on Zayn's face. “I think it's easy to get kind of lost in all of the glitz and glam here, you know? Kind of like with L.A. But once you get past that it's all a giant suburb. Everything to do but nothing at all. Plus by that point I was pretty solidly with Perrie and like, there's no way in hell she would've ever wanted to live somewhere like this.”

Harry hummed, not sure whether he should be annoyed at how easily Zayn was always able to talk about Perrie. Obviously it wasn't like he had lately but still – Harry just hated being reminded about her. “Have you heard from Perrie lately?”

“Why would I have?” Zayn frowned. “I mean – have you heard from Justin?”

“Justin's not my friend,” Harry answered. “Perrie was your best friend for years and you were going to marry her. I just – I mean, it's a legitimate question.”

“I haven't heard from Perrie since I broke up with her two years ago,” Zayn replied. “If she talks to Waliyha and my mom that's one thing, but I respect you enough to not go behind your back and do some shit like that.”

“You promise?”

Zayn pulled Harry into his side, bringing Harry's head down so he could kiss the top of it. “Yes, of course.”

Harry exhaled into Zayn's chest and let his shoulders loosen just that much.

 

They were aimlessly walking down the street, the conversation having turned to a very heated discussion over what Niall's girl's name actually was, when Zayn let out a cute, excited little yelp and dragged Harry over to the Bellagio, where people were loitering around a huge fountain on the side of the hotel. Harry let himself be manhandled and Zayn led them to a spot on a bridge connecting the hotel to the rest of the strip. “What's this all about, Zayn?”

“The fountains,” Zayn explained, pushing Harry in front of him so that Harry was pressed against the barrier and then wrapping his arms around Harry's waist. “Every fifteen minutes they have a water show here.”

“A water show?” Harry repeated, his eyebrows going up in interest. “When's the next one?”

“Should be in like, less than five minutes,” Zayn replied, giving Harry's ass a friendly squeeze. Harry grinned and pushed himself up against Zayn's front, to which Zayn nipped at Harry's neck, murmuring, “Not now, love.”

“Why not?” Harry asked playfully. “And you started it. I'm just getting in the mood for the watersports – I mean the water show.”

A boring and conservative-looking older couple next to them coughed awkwardly and Zayn laughed, biting at Harry's neck again as he mumbled, “You're going to scare the old homophobic people, Haz.”

“Nah, just giving them fun, new ideas,” Harry answered. 

“Here's an idea,” Zayn continued, bringing his hand back down to paw at Harry's ass as he murmured in Harry's ear. “I'm gonna use my tie to bound your wrists together as I rim you until you come.”

Harry bucked back against Zayn, who brought his hand forward to squeeze at Harry's cock. Harry swore and the older couple coughed again, looking pointedly at where Zayn was now resting his hand high on Harry's thigh.

“You should really get that cough checked out,” Harry remarked politely and Zayn laughed, hiding his face in Harry's shoulder as the water show started up. Harry didn't know what he was expecting but the show was truly a lot of fun, the water in the fountain jetting out into the night sky in intricate formations as the Beatles played. Zayn was humming along and tapping his fingers against the side of the bridge and when Harry turned around to look at him, the brief water show over, Zayn was smiling full-faced and open.

“What?” he asked and Harry just shrugged, no words readily available to describe how ridiculously _content_ he was. Instead he pressed forward, draping his arms over Zayn's shoulders, and kissed him, Zayn opening his mouth instantly and curling their tongues together. 

When they pulled back from each other, Harry leaned into Zayn's side, nuzzling his shoulder, and they turned and began walking down the strip back towards the MGM, taking their time and lazily holding hands. Harry was already thinking about how this could go once they got back to their suite, wondered if Zayn would maybe forsake the tie this night and instead push Harry up against the patio –

Zayn's ringing phone jolted Harry out of the moment and Harry frowned as Zayn began patting his pockets before pulling his iPhone out and putting it to his ear. Harry didn't even know Zayn had kept his phone on for this trip, and immediately wished Zayn had let it go to voicemail when Harry heard Louis' clear, loud, drunken voice.

“Where are you?” Louis demanded. “When did you assholes leave?”

“We left like an hour ago, maybe more,” Zayn answered, shrugging even though Louis obviously couldn't see him. 

“You stupid motherfuckers,” Louis cursed. “Can't you ever come out and have fun with other people anymore? Wait, hold on. Please don't tell me you guys are actually having sex right now but still answered the fucking phone – ”

“We're walking around on the strip, calm the fuck down,” Zayn retorted. “And please. Like you guys even really wanted us there.”

“Whatever, loser. Come back to Liam's suite. Niall, Li, and myself are gonna play Truth or Dare.”

Harry raised a skeptical eyebrow at Zayn who shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Harry and I don't wanna.”

“Pussies.”

“Fuck you,” Zayn answered cheerfully. “I just took my husband on a romantic roller coaster ride and to see the Bellagio fountains, and he's antsy and gagging for it, so I was quite looking forward to going back to our suite and getting it in.”

“I put you on speakerphone, you pervert,” Louis yelled. “Now everyone's thinking about you guys having sex instead of Truth or Dare.”

“You're just mad cuz you're not invited,” Zayn answered. “Goodnight.” 

“No, Zayn – ”

But Zayn had already hung up and put his phone away. Harry leaned forward and kissed Zayn, stopping and moving them off to the side of the sidewalk to ask, “Were you serious about what you said – going back to the suite?”

“'Course,” Zayn said. “Haven't had the opportunity to fuck you good and proper in there yet.”

Harry smiled and leaned in to kiss Zayn again when he felt his phone vibrate against his leg. Harry groaned, leaning his forehead against Zayn's shoulder, as he fished his phone out of his pockets. “You're both fuckers,” Louis' drunk voice slurred. “I hate you both.”

“Jesus Christ, Lou, what do you want?”

“I've hardly hung out with either of you – c'mon I want to play Truth or Dare.”

“Play with Liam and Niall,” Harry answered. “I'm horny as fuck. Don't you dare cockblock me.”

“It's not as much fun with only three people,” Louis whined. “C'mon, Harry, you owe me for last night. It'll be fun.”

“I don't owe you shit. You were cockblocking me last night, too, that's why I got pissed with you. If I don't end up fucking within the next hour – ”

“Just come through for like – fifteen minutes,” Louis plead. “Fifteen minutes and then you guys can go do whatever.”

Harry turned his head up from Zayn's chest to look at his face. Zayn rolled his eyes and nodded even though he was clearly annoyed again, biting the inside of his cheek and avoiding Harry's gaze. Harry sighed, resigned, and said, “Fifteen minutes, Lou.”

Harry could hear cheering in the background and then Louis said, “Love you both, see ya in a bit,” and hung up.

Harry put his phone back into his pocket and nudged at Zayn with his cheek. “You okay, babe?”

“I'm fine,” Zayn answered shortly. He turned to Harry, mouth ready to spit out _something_ , and they could both see it there, almost physical as it materialized between them, the edge of a fight, and Harry just hoped, wished to whatever God there was, “ _Please not right now_.” A beat of silence, and then Zayn scoffed to himself, kept whatever remark bottled inside, and pulled Harry back in, kissing him determinedly before tugging Harry back towards the hotel. 

 

They were both irritated though – just because they had avoided something on the strip didn't mean that the current of frustrated energy had dissipated. It had just morphed into something else, the happy thrum and anticipation of a night alone together giving way to annoyance. Zayn was tense but not outright hostile, his hands still linked with Harry's, but it was all making Harry feel on edge as he tried to figure out what he had done  _wrong_ . Zayn had been the one who nodded, who gave the okay to Louis – they both know he would've kept calling until they gave in anyway – they just cut the bullshit time in half. So why was Zayn being such a dick about this?

“If you don't want to hang out with them we don't have to,” Harry said when they were in the elevators, shoulders pressed together as a family of five climbed in and stood in front of them. “We could just go back to our own suite.”

“That's not it,” Zayn said, scratching the back of his neck and looking at his shoes. 

“Then what is it?”

“Not now, Harry.”

Harry narrowed his eyes and partially turned his shoulders so he could face Zayn. “Tell me, Zayn. I can't fix it if you don't tell me what's wrong.”

Zayn raised his eyes to meet Harry's challengingly and Harry shrugged, his own special form of a dare. Zayn laughed and leaned his head against the back of the mirrored elevator, licking his lips as the family got off. “You always do whatever Lou wants, that's all.”

Harry stared at Zayn. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, without question,” Zayn continued. “It'd be cute if it wasn't so fucking frustrating.”

“I don't do whatever Louis wants,” Harry hissed. “If anyone does, it's _you_.”

“Whatever, Harry.”

“No, Zayn, you don't get to just throw something like that out there and then say, 'Oh, whatever.' Not when – ” Harry pursed his lips closed and turned away from Zayn, his own anger simmering hot underneath his skin. “You say I'm always testing you but you do the same shit. Don't even play like you weren't using Louis last night to get back at me, dragging him into our bed.”

“Bullshit, he was drunk and I just wanted to make sure he'd be all right,” Zayn retorted dismissively. “You're the one who sees everything as a fucking chess match.”

“ _I_ see everything as a chess match? Didn't you want to play a game? What was it – throw Harry and Louis in a room together and see if they fuck each other again – was that your game?”

Zayn's eyes flashed and Harry knew – that's  _exactly_ what it was. A heavy weight settled into his stomach and Harry brought his hands up to his eyes, pressing his palms into them so he wouldn't start crying. See, this was why they didn't talk about feelings and shit, so they could avoid moments like this one. Didn't Zayn swear up and down that he was over it – that what Harry and Louis did in a stupid moment of weakness didn't even matter, that Zayn wasn't in any way threatened by Louis? Because everything he'd done since – fucking around with Harry's head, bouncing out on his own birthday party and coming back reeking of sex, starting fights over nothing, and now that  _look_ , hazel eyes that couldn't even bear to meet Harry's – all of that insinuated otherwise.

Harry hadn't ever known Zayn to be insecure. That was Harry's job, trying to be good for everyone so they couldn't ever say a mean word against him. The people pleaser. Zayn didn't care about other people, didn't care about opinions or words spoken in malice. Zayn was above all of that, so effortlessly cool because he knew that he was everything anyone could ever want to be – gorgeous, smart, well-spoken, so fucking thoughtful. So seeing Zayn like this – it just threw Harry. He'd never meant to make Zayn second-guess himself.

“Zayn,” Harry started but Zayn laughed humorlessly and turned away as the elevator dinged open for their floor.

“It's really whatever, Harry,” Zayn said, walking into the hallway. 

Harry took a deep breath before following him. 

 

Louis, Liam and Niall were all sitting around in Liam's suite when Zayn knocked at the door. There were bottles of alcohol and drug paraphernalia strewn around everywhere, and Niall seemed to be a whole other level of wired, refusing to look at Harry at all, even when Harry made a point of sitting next to him.

“What'd you take?” Harry whispered as Zayn, Liam and Louis began arguing over the rules for the dumbass game of Truth or Dare.

“I didn't take anything,” Niall answered defensively. 

“Niall.”

Niall rolled his eyes, still looking everywhere but at Harry, and mumbled, “I took a line, okay?”

“Did you smuggle it onto the plane?” 

Niall finally turned and glared at Harry. “I didn't shove an eightball up my ass, if that's what you're asking. I was talking to one of the girls at the club and she's a dealer, so.” Niall sized Harry up – or attempted to size Harry up, it was hard for him to do when he was fucked out of his mind. “Do you want some?”

“Zayn would get pissed,” Harry answered, glancing over briefly to look at Zayn. Louis was now pouring the remnants of a whiskey bottle straight into Zayn's mouth while Liam looked on wearily. Harry watched as Zayn swallowed, the lines of his neck flexing deliciously, and Harry licked his own lips unconsciously. A line _would_ be fucking nice right now, just to take the edge off and distract Harry from how badly he wanted to get back to his suite and get Zayn naked.

“Yeah, just like how I'm sure you don't like it when he gets drunk, hits on strangers, and acts like an asshole but he still does it anyway,” Niall reasoned. “I know you've been aching for some.”

“Stop it – you know I have,” Harry hissed. “You're trying to start shit.”

“Maybe,” Niall countered. “Everyone is, though. I just want you to know that.”

Harry pouted. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said,” Niall answered. “Everyone's been drinking and on edge and the common denominator in the shared annoyance is you and Zayn. S'all I'm saying.”

Harry opened his mouth to demand that Niall properly fucking elaborate but Louis had started snapping his fingers and yelling to get Harry and Niall's attention. Harry looked at Niall and mouthed, “Later,” before turning to Louis with a strained but very polite, “Yes?”

“We're ready to play,” Louis announced. “The mechanism of choosing truths and dares shall be an empty whiskey bottle, because Liam doesn't seem to fucking understand that that's a separate game – ”

“No, it's not,” Liam interjected. “That's how we always played Truth or Dare when I was in high school.”

“Whatever!” Louis continued with a flourish. “We shall spin the fucking bottle like a bunch of children and then the spinner will ask the spun-upon a question or propose a dare and so on and so forth. Got it?”

“Yes, Lou,” Harry said sweetly. He just wanted to _fuck_ , God, why did he agree to all of this bullshit? “Were you going to do the first honors, since this is your idea?”

“Yup!” Louis said, grabbing the bottle of whiskey and placing it in the middle of the floor while the other boys arranged themselves in a circle on the carpet. Louis spun the bottle and it landed on Liam, who sighed and looked vaguely like he hated life as he mumbled, “Dare.” It was rather harmless – Louis had Liam go stand out in the hallway naked for a few minutes – and then Liam returned and it landed on Zayn, who opted for truth. Liam's face was blank for a few seconds before he blurted, “Did you boost Harry's grade in that Renaissance history class?” Zayn blushed – Harry knew Zayn had but it was one thing for Zayn to admit that to Harry in confidence and a whole other thing for Louis, Liam and Niall to know – but Zayn mumbled, “Yes” even as Louis laughed and Harry felt himself turn red.

And so it went, Harry feeling like he was going to die of boredom. Truth or Dare was a fucking stupid game, especially when Harry thought about how he could be getting his dick sucked instead. But then Liam was spinning the bottle and it landed on Zayn again, who scoffed and said, “Truth.”

“You're such a wuss, Zayn,” Louis remarked as Zayn rolled his eyes and looked to Liam expectantly.

Liam grinned sweetly and asked, “When's the last time you were sleeping with Harry but thinking about someone else?”

“I'm going to murder you,” Harry blurted, anger uncoiling so rapidly he hardly felt Niall holding him back – from doing what, Harry wasn't even sure. Flailing angrily, maybe. “I'm going to bury your body in the middle of the Mojave desert.”

Louis cackled and said, “I'm glad Zayn and I aren't the only ones he talks to like that.”

“C'mon, Harry,” Niall whispered soothingly. “He's just trying to rile you and Zayn up, okay?”

Which was of course when Zayn said, “Last night.”

Harry stared at Zayn, face screwing up in confusion. “That doesn't even make sense. We didn't fuck last night.” The entire room went eerily quiet and Harry  _knew_ – he knew Zayn said that just to be a tremendous fucking dick, retribution for last night and everything else, he knew that rationally, and that he shouldn't humor Zayn by reacting – but it didn't stop Harry from hissing, “You can both go fuck yourself.” Zayn grinned, Louis cursed, Liam stared, and Niall buried his head into his hands and mumbled, “Fucking hell.”

“Spin the fucking bottle, Zayn, it's your turn,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow. 

Zayn shrugged and spun it, not even batting an eye when it landed on Harry. “What'll it be, love?”

“Eat me,” Harry answered brightly. “Dare.”

Zayn's eyes flickered between Harry and Niall, dark and a predatory, and he said, “Kiss Niall.”

Niall held his hands up in front of himself and emphatically protested, “No. I am  _not_ being used as a pawn. I fucking refuse.”

“Who said anything about using anyone?' Harry answered, staring at Zayn. “We're just playing a game, right, Zayn?”

“Right,” Zayn answered coolly. “Nothing meant by it, Niall.”

Niall was looking between Zayn and Harry like he wanted to bolt. Harry sighed, grabbed Niall by the shoulder and kissed him, quick and chastely on the mouth. “Okay, done. Gimme the bottle.” Liam kicked the bottle at Harry, who didn't even bother spinning it, just pointed it at Niall, who sighed resignedly and said, “Truth.”

“That's not how the game works – ” Liam protested but Harry was already staring at Niall with his eyebrow raised.

“What did you mean earlier?” Harry asked. 

Liam yelled, “That's  _really_ not how the game works – ” 

Harry huffed out a frustrated groan but smiled, a thought from the previous night suddenly occurring to him. “Okay, fine, I've got a better one. Niall, who else is in on the bet on how long Zayn and my marriage will last?”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Louis said, crawling across the circle and making an X with his arms. “I'm with Liam. That's not how Truth or Dare works.”

“So you're in on it,” Harry said. “Niall said he put in $75 for two years, what've you got?”

Even Zayn turned to Louis with a look of interest, but Niall opened his mouth, let out a long-suffering sigh, and said, “It was me, Liam, Sophia, Louis, and Eleanor okay? We were just throwing things out while we were waiting for you guys to come out to the car last night after dinner.”

“Wait – ” Zayn interjected but Niall was already charging ahead, spinning the bottle and watching as it landed on Louis, who opted for “Dare” before Niall even had the opportunity to ask.

Niall, to his credit, didn't even hesitate with his dare. His eyes were locked with Harry's when he said, “Make out with Zayn.”

Harry squawked and Liam stood and walked to the other side of the suite, clearly as a precautionary measure. Harry wasn't watching Liam though, turning to stare at Zayn, who looked as surprised as Harry felt. Harry wasn't sure who pulled who – assumed that Louis probably grabbed Zayn, it all happened too fast – but next thing Harry realized, Zayn was in Louis' lap and they were properly going at it, Louis' hands fisted in Zayn's hair, the pink of Zayn's tongue making an appearance as he let Louis set the pace.

Harry honestly wasn't sure how he felt about this – his brain had stopped working, kind of, but he knew on some logical level that he had no reason to be upset, that this was all just a mean spirited joke anyway, a way for Niall to get back at Harry, and Louis was grinning and practically laughing into Zayn's mouth – so maybe this was actually supposed to be a moment of levity in an otherwise really fucking tense game of Truth and Dare. And it was really weird, seeing his goddamn husband kissing someone else, and it was only Louis, and Louis was really hot, but at the same time, it _was_ Louis, and why was it _always_ Louis? And even less logically, Harry couldn't help but wonder why Louis hadn't kissed Harry like that, with smiles and familiarity?Harry wanted to scream and yell and kick at Zayn and Louis until they cut it out, but instead he just stood up, broke away from the circle, and turned to leave.

Which was of course when Zayn pulled away, giggling, “Kissing you is like – is like eleventh grade all over again.”

For some reason, that sentence really, really, _really_ hurt.

Harry took a moment to see if there was anything he could even say that would match the pain level in his chest. It was only when he realized that he couldn't that he took his phone out of his pocket and threw it at Zayn. Harry missed by a mile as usual but nearly clipped Louis' shoulder, and just like that there seemed to be an explosion of sound, Louis letting out a loud, surprised cackle as Liam sighed, “C'mon, Harry,” and Zayn just _sat_ there, leg still thrown over Louis' lap, staring at Harry blankly. Niall stood and grabbed at Harry's arms, steering him out of the room and into the hallway, the door slamming shut behind them, but not before Harry heard Liam ask Zayn, “Aren't you gonna go after him?”

Harry settled against the wall opposite from Liam's suite, sliding down it until he was sitting, and put his head in between his legs. He already knew that Zayn told Liam “No.”

“Harry?” Niall asked gently. “Harry, are you okay?”

“No,” Harry answered thickly. He was _not_ going to cry. He spent so much time crying over Zayn – was this even fucking worth it? “I can't – I can't keep _doing_ this.”

“If it's any consolation, it hasn't always been this bad,” Niall said soothingly. “Maybe you were right – maybe this is just a rough patch?”

Harry appreciated that Niall was willing to lie to him. Niall really _was_ a good friend, too fucking good for someone like Harry. “Not this bad, you're right,” Harry mumbled from behind his hands. “Zayn's trying to drive me crazy. And that comment about kissing Louis being like eleventh grade – he doesn't even _care_ – ”

Harry turned as an elevator pinged down the hallway and the girls came tottering out of it, Gemma at the head. She took one look at Harry sitting down on the carpeted floor and immediately came running over, getting down on her knees and running her hands through Harry's hair.

“Harry, love, what's wrong?” Gemma asked, her voice soft, comfortable and soothing in that way only older sisters can manage when they really want to. “Did you drink too much?”

“Harry hasn't even had anything to drink,” Niall explained with a sigh. “We were all playing Truth or Dare, and it got really – well. I – I dared Zayn and Louis to kiss. Harry threw his phone, and here we are.”

Niall and Gemma had a quick and furious conversation over Harry only with their eyes – and wow, if that wasn't fucking weird, when had they ever even had a real conversation – and then Gemma groaned. “ _Harry_.”

“Why is this all my fault?” Harry demanded. “How come Zayn gets to do shitty things but I'm not allowed to get upset about it?”

The hotel door swung open and Zayn stepped out of it, looking absolutely livid. A small thrill traveled down Harry's spine at the sight of him, his entire body revving up for a fight. He hadn't been lying, earlier in the day – a part of him truly did love fighting Zayn, getting Zayn so upset that the entire world was focused solely on him wanting to get back at Harry. Harry would take Zayn's single-minded attention however he could get it. Both Niall and Gemma unconsciously took a step back and Zayn crossed his arms over his chest, quirking an eyebrow at Harry.

“Wanna repeat what you just said, love?”

“Fuck you, you heard me the first time,” Harry snarled. “Do you always wait by the door to hear what people are saying about you?”

“ _Harry_ ,” Niall warned resignedly but the fight bell had already rung in both Harry and Zayn's heads and it was _on_ , Harry and Zayn content to fight over Niall and Gemma's protestations, Zayn yelling something about Harry being “a selfish motherfucker” and Harry calling Zayn a “lying cheating asshole,” each of them lobbing insults in the hope that something, _anything_ would stick. It was such a rush, the two of them emotionally unloading on each other everything that they had been holding in for the past – fuck, who even knew how long, bringing up damn near everything but the one thing neither could give voice to – the fundamental distrust at the core of their relationship. At some point, Louis and Liam both came out into the hallway, and Louis physically manhandled Zayn down to his and Harry's suite, Zayn and Harry content to continue yelling at each other until Louis got their door open and shoved Zayn inside. The door slammed closed and the ensuing quiet was actually the most relaxing thing Harry had heard in a long while, Harry closing his eyes and letting his head fall against the hallway wall while everyone stared.

“Harry,” Gemma started but Harry shook his head.

“I don't wanna hear it.”

“Harry,” Gemma tried again, tone firm. “We need to talk.”

“Nothing to talk about.”

“He always gets like this after they fight,” Niall put in. “They both do. That or they start breaking things. They're crazy people.”

“I don't wanna hear it from you either,” Harry said, opening his eyes. “This is everyone's fault as much as it's mine and Zayn's.”

“You two came in with an attitude – ” Niall started but he shoved his mouth closed and took a few deep, steadying breaks. “Nevermind. I'll see you later. Good luck, Gem.” And with that, Niall turned and walked up the hallway, grabbing his girl's hand where she was still standing awkwardly by the elevators, and leaving the floor. Sophia had already made her way into Liam's room, and Waliyha was standing by Zayn and Harry's suite, a sad look on her face as she glanced between Harry and Gemma and the shut door in front of her. Eleanor was the only girl who didn't seem particularly fazed but she also looked the most drunk, making her way to her and Louis' suite without a word to anyone else. Harry knew he really needed to talk to her, just check in and see if what Niall said was true, but he – he couldn't even begin to deal with that right now.

“You're coming for a talk with me,” Gemma demanded. “We're going down to the bar, all right?”

“Fine, whatever,” Harry said, pushing himself off the ground and following Gemma down the hallway, trying to muster a semblance of dignity as he passed Waliyha. He wasn't sure he succeeded.

 

Harry and Gemma ended up at the West Wing, a semi-hidden bar in the MGM. They ordered their drinks, Gemma opting for a martini while Harry grabbed a beer, and Harry followed Gemma towards the back, where there were small sectioned off areas with couches and private televisions. Gemma pulled herself up on the couch, positioning her legs behind her as she sipped on her drink, and Harry sat next to her, resolutely staring at the television, where a re-run of an earlier basketball game was playing. They sat in companionable enough silence for a few moments before Gemma sighed and leaned her head on Harry's shoulder, mumbling, “You've got to know I had no idea you and Zayn were like this, love. I always just thought he was like your own Daddy. An older guy who took care of you. Not like – not like this.”

“It's not always this bad,” Harry said, looking down at his hands. “I know what it looks like – but I swear to you. It's not always like that.”

“You're bound to say that, Harry,” Gemma replied softly. “But even if it is good most of the time – you're not supposed to talk to someone you love like that. Not ever.”

Harry scoffed at Gemma's naivete. “What do you know about love, Gem? You're fucking a guy for his money so you don't have to deal with shit like feelings and love.”

Gemma's eyes flashed and she put her drink down on the table in front of them to properly glare at Harry. “And you're married to a guy who helped you ace your classes in exchange for blowjobs. At least I'm coming out of my situation with fatter pockets. What's a ring in comparison to a bank account with one or two extra zero's?”

“Well, we're both just whores then, aren't we?” Harry asked, rolling his eyes. “Those Styles kids. They'll try to worm their way into your bed – don't you dare trust them.” Gemma cracked a small smile that Harry returned. He wasn't sure when he had first heard people saying that about him and his sister – must've been in high school. It had hurt, then, but now – eh. There were worse things, and Harry couldn't get too upset if the only thing people could say about he and Gem was that they liked to fuck.

“No, but seriously though, Harry,” Gemma said, sobering quickly. “You know I just want the best for you. And I understand how much you love Zayn, but sometimes that's not gonna be enough, you know?” Gemma bit her lip and took another sip of her martini. “I just don't want you to get hurt – especially now that you two are married.” Gemma lowered her eyes and mumbled, “I don't want you and Zayn to end up like Mom and Dad, you know?”

“We don't throw anything at each other that we can't handle,” Harry answered. “It's all a game – we're just playing with each other more often than not.”

“That's not the way it's supposed to be,” Gemma replied. “Love isn't a game.”

“Love isn't supposed to be any one thing, though. And if it works for us, who cares?”

“When you drag literally eight other people into your relationship, you might want to re-evaluate whether or not it's really working for you,” Gemma pointed out.

Harry nodded. He knew that he and Zayn needed to cool it out in front of everyone else – hadn't they just agreed that they would? Fuck. It seemed like this trip was bringing out the absolute worst in everyone – bottled up emotions, drugs, and alcohol certainly were not the ideal combination – and Harry wanted to cut this entire trip short and _go home_. It honestly seemed like Harry and Zayn were absolutely fine when they were alone in their own world, hanging out in their apartment or walking hand-in-hand down the Vegas strip – it was only when they added in the complication that was _everyone else_ that things turned to shit.

Harry and Gemma sat in silence, both content to watch the television as they sat in their own thoughts. Harry felt like shit – felt like he wanted to fall into bed, crawl under the blankets, and hide, obsessing over how now everyone knew how fucked up he and Zayn were. Zayn probably didn't even care, but Harry did, Harry always cared too much. Wanted to project an image of perfection and happiness that wasn't even close to being accurate. Harry went to grab his phone to send a mass text to everyone that he was sorry for causing a scene when he remembered – oh yeah. It was probably still sitting on Liam's carpet. Harry almost wanted to punch himself.

 

Harry left Gemma at the elevators and headed in the direction of his and Zayn's suite but changed his mind halfway there, bypassing it and knocking on Liam's door. There was a beat of silence, and the laughter that had been tinkling from behind the closed door stopped as footsteps approached from within. Harry wasn't even surprised to see that Niall was the one to open the door, shirtless and red-eyed.

“Didn't you bring a girl on this trip?' Harry asked. “How come you're never with her?”

“I'm with her at night,” Niall said, waggling his eyebrows and throwing the door back to let Harry in, pressing Harry's phone into his hand as he walked by. “Ellie's calling her boyfriend right now, though.”

Ellie – yes that was her fucking name. Harry tried to commit that to memory before resigning himself to the fact that he would probably forget in another two seconds. “How come you only ever date people already in relationships?”

“Dunno. Why did you?”

Harry acknowledged the point with a small smile and went to sit on the sofa across from the huge king sized bed, where Liam and Sophia were both sitting and staring at something playing on a laptop. Gauging from the loud moans and cheesy music, there was really only one thing it could possibly be. Liam frowned and he mumbled something like, “I didn't think that was even humanly possible.”

“Are you guys watching porn?” Harry asked. “Really?”

“It's my room, get out if you're not gonna play nice,” Liam retorted. “What are you even here for? I know Niall gave you your phone. Zayn kick you out?”

Harry shrugged. “He might still be mad, I don't know. I came here straight from sitting with Gemma. What do you have for me?”

Liam looked up at Harry, eyes squinted and his head tilted slightly as Niall walked over to stand beside Harry with a half-empty bottle of champagne. “Are you talking drugs?”

“Gotta be,” Niall confirmed, taking a swig out of the bottle. “Why are you asking Liam, though? You know I've got coke in my suite.”

“Can't go in there high off coke. I don't want Zayn to get even more pissed at me,” Harry answered.

“You want Addy,” Liam huffed with a sigh.

“You're on some technicality shit,” Niall pointed out. “Just cuz you're taking prescription doesn't mean you're not still getting fucked up behind his back. He'll be pissed either way.”

Harry opted to ignore Niall. “Just like, two pills. Please, Liam.”

Liam and Sophia exchanged a look and Liam sighed, getting up and walking over to one of several suitcases that were thrown down near the patio door. Liam returned with two pills in his hand and he said, “You know I sell these at Cal for like ten a pop, but I'll give both to you for twelve if you promise to stop being a fucking bitch about everything.”

“Language, Liam, shit,” Niall muttered but Harry just said, “Deal,” and took out a twenty from his wallet, but Liam just held the pills even higher and further away from Harry.

“I'm serious, Harry,” Liam continued. “You and Zayn bring out the absolute worst in each other and I'm fucking sick of it.”

“You think I don't know that?” Harry demanded. “How stupid do you think I am?”

“Pretty stupid, obviously,” Niall put in. Sophia snickered and Harry rolled his eyes, turning back to Liam, who sighed and made the deal, taking Harry's twenty, giving him change and the two pills.

“Here,” Sophia said, scooting over so Harry could sit next to her on the bed and use their bedside table. Harry pulled out a notepad from the bottom drawer, tearing out a page and placing the pills in the center of it before folding the edges of the paper inward. Liam walked over, his cell phone in hand, and he and Harry both used their iPhones to bang the pills down into a fine powder. Harry murmured his thanks as he unfolded the paper and used one of the bills Liam had handed him as change to snort the powder up. Harry cursed and closed his eyes as he felt it start to zap through his bloodstream, nothing as sweet and intense as a coke high, but good enough for the time being. A nice undercurrent of happiness flowing underneath everything.

“You're all a bunch of addicts,” Niall remarked.

“You're the one who bought cocaine off a stripper,” Harry answered, standing up, wiping his nose off, and shrugging. “Pleasure to do business with you all, though. I'll see you in the morning.” Liam, Sophia and Niall all called out their well wishes and Harry left the room, took a deep breath, and walked back to his own suite.

 

Zayn was still up and lounging on the couch when Harry came back, looking a little worse for wear as he watched some Criminal Minds rerun on the television. He looked freshly showered and smelled good, albeit like generic hotel moisturizer, had thrown off most of his clothes save his undershirt and underwear and his hair was standing up in every which way, like he'd been running his hands through it and pulling on the strands. He looked up when Harry walked in but didn't say anything, just watched as Harry threw off everything but his own pair of boxers and walked over to the couch to sit next to Zayn, wrapping his arms around Zayn's middle and breathing him in.

“Are we gonna talk about everything?” Harry asked hesitantly.

“You know we're not,” Zayn answered, voice raw. He'd probably been out smoking on the patio before taking his shower because he didn't smell any more like smoke than usual. “Not now, at least. I don't wanna get into another fucking fight. Where'd you go?”

“Down to the bar with Gem,” Harry answered simply. “Then I went to Liam's room to get my phone.”

“Get anything else while you were with your boys?” Zayn asked shrewdly. “If you took something, you should just tell me.”

“I didn't have any of Niall's coke, if that's what you're asking.”

Zayn sighed and leaned back against the cushions. “Harry, you honestly act like I haven't been getting high with you for like, four years.”

Harry shrugged, burrowing closer to Zayn and averting his eyes when he mumbled, “I just took some Addy.”

Zayn took a moment where he seemed to be thinking really hard before he reached over and pulled on Harry's hair. Harry hissed softly as Zayn maneuvered Harry lengthwise along the couch, only letting go when Harry was splayed out with his limbs akimbo, back barely balancing on the cushions. Zayn traced down the column of Harry's neck and let his hand rest over the juncture of skin connecting chest to shoulder.

“Harry, you know I love you but sometimes I want to – ” Zayn trailed off and moved to take his hand away but Harry grabbed Zayn's wrist, pulling Zayn until he was flush on top of Harry.

Harry shook his head and pulled Zayn in, nipping at his bottom lip before kissing him properly, closing his eyes and relishing the taste of whiskey and cigarettes on Zayn's tongue. It was eager and messy, desperate with everything they still couldn't find it in them to say.

“I don't want to hang out with anyone else during the rest of this trip,” Harry admitted when he pulled away. “I just – I wanna do things with you.”

“Okay,” Zayn said, a surprised smile on his face. He was just so fucking beautiful, even when he was upset, even when he was fighting with Harry, even when the whole world was crumbling around them – so beautiful and all Harry's. So long as Harry still had Zayn on his team, he would always be fine.

“You're – you're better than any drug,” Harry said, licking his lips and watching in fascination as Zayn mimicked the gesture. “And if I'm addicted to anything, it's to fucking you – ”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Zayn cursed, biting his way into Harry's mouth, their teeth clanging uncomfortably as their lips met. Harry groaned and Zayn used the opportunity to press his lips to the corner of Harry's mouth, an innocent press, and Harry pulled Zayn's wrist, still in his hand, up and above his own head, relishing in how hot and heavy Zayn was on top of him. Zayn wiggled out of Harry's grip before pressing his fingers along Harry's, pulling back and murmuring, “What do you wanna do?”

Harry shrugged. “Whatever you wanna do. You can tie me up like you wanted – or if there was something else – ”

“I wanna felch you,” Zayn blurted, looking startled even as he said it, red coloring his neck with the admission.

“Are you – are you serious?” Harry asked, blushing himself. It was just – that was something decidedly _dirty_ , not that Harry was morally opposed or anything. Hard to be opposed when Harry had daydreams about taking a ride on the parking brake sometimes while Zayn recorded him, or snorting coke off Zayn's dick before sucking him off, or putting on one of his baggy sweaters and trying to finish a picture in his coloring book while Zayn fucked him over the table. Still though – wanting to lick come out of someone's orifice – you didn't just blurt that out, right? They should probably have a serious sit-down about it. That was what normal people did – right? Instead of just trying something out and checking that it was all right later, after it had already happened. “Can we like. Can we take a rain check on that one? Like, not now, but some other time?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Zayn mumbled. “Sorry. I shouldn't have – ”

“Don't ever apologize for wanting what you want,” Harry said. “You never blinked when I told you what I need sometimes.”

“Do you need it now?” Zayn asked. “Do you wanna play?”

“It's not the same when we're not at home. We can try something else. I'm really not opposed to getting tied up.”

Zayn sighed, looking over at the bed. “Louis is still here though.”

Harry frowned and looked over and fucking hell – Zayn was right. Harry wasn't sure how he missed Louis, actually, cuddled up and looking decidedly warm and snuggly on one side of their giant King sized bed. Harry had assumed Zayn had pushed all of the blankets to one side of the bed or something, hadn't even imagined that lump was a person.

“Why is he still here?” Harry asked, voice low and dangerous. “I swear to God, Zayn – ”

“You know he was drunk, he passed out, nothing happened,” Zayn answered shortly. “Do you wanna check my dick?”

“No,” Harry replied, even as he cupped Zayn's balls through his underwear. “I've got an idea, though.”

“What?”

“How heavy of a sleeper is Lou?”

Zayn stared at Harry for a minute before laughing, a quick huff of disbelief which turned into something heartier. Harry frowned but Zayn just shook his head, throwing his undershirt onto the floor and pulling his boxer briefs off as well. Zayn flicked at Harry's collarbone and Harry copied Zayn's lead, taking his underwear off in a hurry as his brain went foggy with desire. Zayn grabbed Harry's hand and began walking backwards to the bed, but Harry shook out of Zayn's grip, licking his hand and bringing it to Zayn's dick, stroking slowly but assuredly as Zayn fell on the opposite side of the bed from Louis' unconscious form.

“You wanna fuck me while Louis sleeps?” Zayn asked, his tone taunting, a little mean. “Addy got you feeling brave? Wanna mark your territory like a dog?”

“Yes,” Harry answered, crawling on top of Zayn and relishing in the skin-to-skin contact when their legs tangled and their dicks bumped against each other. “Want the sound of us fucking to become a part of his dreams.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Zayn hissed, his face contorting out of one of vaguely concealed amusement into something darker, edgier, his cock jumping. As if Harry was the only sick motherfucker in this relationship – everything Harry had learned, he had learned from Zayn. Harry grinned, darting in to kiss Zayn again while his fingers traced circles over Zayn's ribs. Harry pulled away and ran back over to their suitcases, emerging with a bottle of lube, biting his lip when he returned to rest in between Zayn's thighs, pushing them open so Zayn's feet bumped up against Louis' leg.

“You're gonna wake him up,” Zayn whispered.

“No I'm not,” Harry mumbled, kissing the tip of Zayn's cock and then making his way down, grabbing Zayn by the hips and licking a broad stripe down Zayn's crack and tracing the rim of Zayn's entrance with the tip of his tongue. Zayn let out a garbled moan before throwing his arm over his mouth and biting into his wrist, screwing his eyes shut as Harry began licking over Zayn in earnest. Zayn kept flexing his foot where it bumped against Louis, clenching and unclenching his toes as he let out these soft little ragged moans, his cock spurting precome over his stomach as Harry did his best to get him wet and ready, slicking a finger up with lube and inserting it alongside his tongue. And Harry couldn't help but let his eyes dart between Zayn's love drunk expression and Louis' lumbering body, letting Zayn know by the wreckage his tongue provided that Harry would _always_ choose Zayn, would always end up right here, _just like this_ – that this was the only inevitability here in their shared life together. When it came to this fucked up mess, Harry and Zayn would always have each other, and that was it.

Harry was three fingers in when Zayn hiccuped out, “C'mon, Harry, fuck me now,” and Harry nodded, slowly sliding his fingers out and slicking himself up with lube.

“You let me fuck you so much more now,” Harry remarked as he positioned himself over Zayn. “Not just special occasions anymore.”

“Every time you wanna get in me is a special occasion,” Zayn said, completely seriously. He wasn't trying to be playful at all and Harry – Harry didn't quite know what to do with that, so he kissed Zayn and pushed in, Zayn gasping into Harry's mouth until Harry was balls deep and straining with the effort of keeping himself from railing thoughtlessly into Zayn. Harry glanced over to make sure Louis was still asleep – Zayn had started panting loudly and unabashedly, and he liked to talk about Harry as the porn star, okay – and Louis was, so Harry hooked Zayn's thighs over each side of his hips and grabbed a pillow to put underneath Zayn's ass, using the leverage to fuck into Zayn especially hard and deep. Zayn was babbling, stroking himself as Harry tried to make it so good Zayn would see stars, and Harry was mesmerized by the sight of Zayn's wedding band on his ring finger as he played with his balls with his left hand. Zayn came, the muscles in his neck pronounced as he threw his head back and painted his stomach, but Harry didn't even know if he was close. Everything just felt amazing, teetering on a precipice of too much – it was probably the Adderall, if he was honest with himself – and Harry kept fucking Zayn long and slow even as he felt Zayn clench around him with the echoes of his orgasm. Zayn made an aborted noise – too sensitive, and Harry pulled out as slowly as he could manage, before crawling over Zayn's chest, fucking into his fist hard and fast while Zayn sleepily slapped his ass.

“C'mon, baby,” Zayn slurred as though he was the one who was fucked up – maybe he was. A good dicking can do that. “Come for Daddy, princess. Come all over my face so next time Louis wants to kiss me he tastes you.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Harry cursed, his orgasm finally unfurling out of him and all over Zayn's face, Zayn licking his lips and thrusting out his tongue as Harry milked out the last of his release. Harry went to fall back against Zayn's legs but Zayn caught him by putting up his knees, grinning up at Harry, who returned the gesture with eyes that seemed heavy with the threat of sleep. “Made you dirty.”

“Always dirty with you, babe,” Zayn answered with a yawn, going to rub his eyes out of habit but frowning when his hand came away with Harry's come. “Hope you didn't come on Louis, too.”

Harry glanced over at Louis, who was still somehow asleep, and shrugged. “Even if I did, that's what he gets for passing out here and not with Eleanor.” Zayn hummed noncommittally and Harry forced down the unwelcome thought of what Eleanor believed Zayn, Harry, and Louis were all doing together, especially if she knew about Harry's previous indiscretion – Harry wouldn't think about it. He _wouldn't_.

“Let's take a quick shower and then go to bed,” Zayn suggested. “Need to get this off my face.”

“It's good for your skin,” Harry mumbled even though he wasn't sure if that was true or not. “You will look younger and rejuvenated.”

Zayn rolled his eyes and pushed up at Harry with his thighs. Harry got up, sighing, and turned into the bathroom to get the water running.

 

The sofa had a pull out bed, so Harry and Zayn opted to kip there instead of next to Louis. They were contentedly asleep when Louis rolled into a wet spot and woke up screaming bloody murder. Everyone else pretty much left Zayn and Harry alone for the rest of the trip after that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feel free to reach out to me on [Tumblr](http://catholicschoolgirl.tumblr.com) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/xtracalidopechk)


	9. Part Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry could feel it though – that expectant breeze in the air that warned him to not get too comfortable with the way things were going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love you, Fee and Emily, and I love all of you who take the time out of your day to read this fucked up little story.

The next few weeks passed by in a blur as winter's halfhearted attempt at cold, stormy weather gave way to clear skies and hints of summer. Zayn went back to work, continued lecturing at Cal, and Harry did as he had been doing over the past few months – absolutely nothing. It hadn't been his plan, really, but Harry also hadn't known that he would be able to finish up all of his units in December. He was still hanging around campus more often than not, goofing off with Niall and Liam or scrapping up some spending cash with a few tutoring jobs, but mostly Harry wasn't doing a whole lot.

Harry could tell that Zayn was kind of annoyed by it, but Harry had already called the nonprofit he had lined a job at after graduation, and unfortunately they really weren't able to take him on until the summer. Harry's parents were still fine with paying his half of the rent and utilities, even though he had gotten yelled at by both of them after they heard about the marriage secondhand from Gemma. Ideally, Harry would be using this time to travel, see more of the world, but Zayn couldn't just bunk off for a few weeks and Harry wasn't going to go travel alone, so that was out. Harry's step-dad _had_ given him some money under the table – a wedding present, his check had said – so Harry was looking into booking he and Zayn another trip to Europe in the weeks Zayn had off in-between summer school and starting the Fall semester at Bentley. But August was still ages away, and in the meantime Harry had to find other ways to amuse himself.

Harry and Zayn agreed to having date night once a week – no friends, no phones, no distractions. They would go back and forth choosing the location, and unless it was some sort of special occasion, they also agreed on a spending limit. It was just – if there was anything they had learned from Vegas, from hanging out with each other on the Strip doing dumb, simple shit, it was that they really needed to do a better job of taking the time out to _talk_ and appreciate each other. That's how people stayed together, right? By making the effort to remember all of the reasons why they were best friends underneath it all?

It was hard, though. Harry still felt like they were walking on eggshells around each other, whole swaths of conversation off-bounds because the subject matter was too uncomfortable and they were unwilling to push too hard at each other. But Harry didn't know any differently and he could tell that things _were_ getting better, in small but significant ways – they hadn't had a huge fight since Vegas, and Harry hadn't been worried about Zayn doing something stupid and hurtful, hoped that Zayn could say the same about Harry.

Harry could feel it though – that expectant breeze in the air that warned him to not get too comfortable with the way things were going, especially not when he received a text from Justin, nothing but a simple, “Watch out, kid,” that Harry couldn't get Justin to elaborate on. Harry could tell something was coming by the way the sun filtered through the blinds of their apartment, rays blanketing Zayn's hands as he tucked his phone away when Harry entered their living room. Could tell that things were going to come to a head by the way that Harry stubbornly avoided El and Louis, coming up with convenient excuses whenever they asked for a double date because Harry wasn't sure which of them he wanted to ignore more – Eleanor and eyes that knew too much, or Louis, the one that was too intertwined in Harry and Zayn's relationship. Could tell that the status quo wasn't maintainable by the way that Harry still thought about what Zayn got up to the night of his birthday party, completely unwanted images leaping across his mind at the most inconvenient moments. 

Springtime upheaval. Harry could feel it coming like a warm current signaling a storm.

 

It had been Harry's turn for a date night idea, and Harry decided to keep it simple while also opting for a daytime excursion, grabbing a blanket, packing up a picnic basket and driving Zayn and himself up the hill to Tilden Regional Park. They paid the small fee in order to hang out on the edge of Lake Anza, settling along a grassy knoll some distance back from the shore, Harry tossing off his shirt and pulling Zayn into his lap while they sat on Harry's ratty old A's throw blanket and ate the food Harry packed. “You're the only person who would think focaccia, prosciutto and wine is simple picnic fare,” Zayn remarked as he took a sip of the white white Harry had brought along. Harry just shrugged – couldn't help it that he was spoiled and wanted to spoil Zayn, too, impress him with nice things. Zayn was too pretty to eat Wonderbread and bologna, had the type of face that begged for fine dining and designer clothes. They stayed by the lake for a few hours, enjoying the sunshine while Zayn refused to get anywhere near the water, holding hands and making up stories about the kids and couples dotting the shoreline. They didn't drive back to the apartment until around four, Zayn handsy but groggy from the alcohol. They settled onto their couch, Harry pulling out a quilt and watching Zayn throw off his clothes with heavy eyes, just appreciating the lean lines of Zayn's body, not particularly expecting it to go anywhere when Zayn was so obviously tired but just basking in his arousal. Zayn let Harry pick something to watch on Netflix – this fascinating documentary about the offspring of Nazis – and Zayn promptly fell asleep in Harry's lap, his face smoothing out as he rested. He was just so gorgeous, his hair silky smooth underneath Harry's fingertips, and Harry pulled the quilt tighter around them and let himself settle in the happy glow knowing that this was the type of moment he was allowed to indulge in forever.

 

Harry didn't even notice that he had dozed until he was stirring hours later, the entire apartment clothed in darkness, their quilt lying on the floor. Harry pushed himself up from the couch cushions, frowning at the disgusting amount of drool on his hand, and looked around, trying to ascertain just where Zayn had gotten off to. The television had been turned off and everywhere around him was silence.

“Babe?” Harry called, his mouth pulling further downward as he stood on unsteady feet and began padding around the apartment. Both the guest and master bedrooms were empty, as were the bathrooms and the kitchen. Harry pouted, washing his hands off in the sink, and returned to the couch, flipping the television back on and restarting the documentary as he jiggled his leg, sent Zayn a text, and tried not to freak out.

Zayn returned half an hour later, wearing sweats and a light blue tank top that Harry could never remember which of them had actually bought, looking decidedly sheepish when Harry turned and glared at him. “Where'd you go?” Harry asked. “I woke up and you were gone.”

“Just went to have a smoke,” Zayn replied, tossing his keys onto the coffee table.

“For over an hour?” Zayn shrugged and Harry ran his tongue over his teeth and decided not to press the matter, settling back along the couch and trying not to watch Zayn as he kicked off his shoes and sat down next to Harry, bringing a hand to play with Harry's hair.

“What's wrong, babe?” Zayn asked, voice low and soothing. He was so full of shit. “Are you mad at me?”

“I wouldn't be if you learned how to answer your fucking phone,” Harry retorted.

It felt like Zayn was cheating when he began scratching along Harry's scalp, his free hand coming to play with the hem of Harry's shirt. “I'm sorry, love. I turned it off – was feeling overwhelmed, I guess. What can I do to make it up to you?”

Harry wasn't entirely in the mood to be distracted by sex, but he could probably work up to it if Zayn continued to play with his hair. He hummed, leaning into Zayn's touch, and mumbled, “Maybe if we smoked,” and watched as Zayn pulled the hand that was playing with Harry's shirt away, taking his phone out of his pocket and switching it on with deft fingers. The screen lit up with notifications, Zayn frowning down as it continued to ping.

“What?” Harry asked, instantly on edge again, but Zayn shook his head, turning away to toss his phone onto the coffee table.

“Nothing,” Zayn said, smiling prettily and doing absolutely nothing to dispel Harry's suspicions. “Some bullshit from no one important. You want me to roll us up something?”

“Yeah, wanna shotgun,” Harry replied distantly. “Who'd you turn your phone off to avoid?”

Zayn stood up, answering, “Nobody,” as he walked out of the room. Harry turned back to the documentary but he kept glancing back at Zayn's phone, going back and forth with himself over whether it was worth it to go through Zayn's texts or not. Zayn came back before Harry reached a decision, falling half in Harry's lap and holding a blunt up to Harry's line of sight. “Forgot I had already got us something ready before we went down to the lake this morning,” Zayn said conspiratorially right as his phone pinged again. Zayn frowned at it and the frown only became more pronounced when Harry sat up, snatching the phone and smiling at Zayn triumphantly before glancing down in order to read the newest notification that had popped up on the screen. A text message from an unsaved number: “Is Harry there? Is that why you're not answering me?”

Harry took a moment – doing his best not to scream. Took a moment to remind himself to keep calm and not freak out and smash Zayn's phone with a hammer even though that's what he _desperately_ wanted to do. “Who is this?” Harry demanded. “And why are they asking you about me?”

Zayn cocked a shoulder. “Nobody. I already told you.”

Harry continued to glare but Zayn didn't budge, just meeting Harry's gaze with a small, unapologetic smile. Harry tapped in Zayn's passcode with trembling fingers, scrolling through the list of messages between Zayn and this other person – whoever the fuck this bold little shit was. Zayn had only responded to one of the messages, a pretty unhelpful “K” when the person initially asked whether it was all right for them to be communicating. No engagement whatsoever when the person asked a series of increasingly annoying questions. Considering the desperate tone of the texts, though, there was really only one person that it could be, and the realization felt like a barbell in Harry's stomach.

“How did Perrie get your number?” Harry asked, sliding the phone back across the coffee table. Harry had pestered Zayn to get a new phone number almost immediately after they started exclusively dating and living together, all with the unspoken understanding that it was so Perrie wouldn't be able to get a hold of Zayn. So much for that, then.

Zayn averted his eyes and shrugged again. “Louis asked if it was all right. I didn't say 'no.'”

Harry took a deep breath and slowly counted to ten before speaking again. He would not cry. He would not throw a tantrum. He _wouldn't_. “When? When did Louis ask?”

Zayn screwed his face up as he thought. “Not long after we all went to Vegas.”

“And you just rolled with it?” Harry asked. “Just went with your friend giving your number to your ex after everything that happened between the three of us in Vegas?”

Zayn frowned. “When you say it like that it makes it sound like he's planning something.”

“Don't try to play me like that, Zayn,” Harry hissed. “Like I don't know what type of person you are – or that he is. Just because I don't have a fucking PhD like you two doesn't mean I'm stupid.”

“It doesn't mean anything,” Zayn said. “So what, my ex-girlfriend got my phone number and now she's texting me. You see I'm not responding, and that's because I don't fucking want to. If I wanted her, I would be with her. I could have anyone I want – and whatever, I know how awful that sounds. But the only person I want is _you_ , yeah?”

“That's not it,” Harry replied, his voice cracking with how fucking _upset_ he was getting. Zayn was being purposefully obtuse – was being purposefully hurtful. Hadn't he just told Harry a few months ago that he wouldn't go behind Harry's back to talk to Perrie? Did Zayn only say that so it would hurt even more discovering these texts on his phone? “I  know that I'm the only person you're fucking. Doesn't she have a kid anyway? If you won't have a kid with me, then I know you're not going to take on one with her. But she's not even the real problem here. The _issue_ is Louis.”

Zayn seemed legitimately taken aback, shaking his head at Harry in his confusion. “How is Louis the issue?”

“He's always starting shit!” Harry exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air. “Fucking always! You never did tell me why he was passed out in our bed when we were in Vegas.”

“And whose fault is that?” Zayn demanded. “You're the one who sucked him off and made him an issue.”

“No, don't you dare put all of that on me. We were both there – I didn't trick him into anything. He consented to everything that happened – haven't you ever wondered _why_?”

“Of course I've wondered,” Zayn snapped. “He's never given me a real answer.”

“And why is that, you think?” Harry pushed even though Zayn was becoming increasingly and visibly annoyed. “Why would he do that to Eleanor – to you?”

“What – you mean you didn't come up for air long enough to ask?”

Harry stared at Zayn, the quick up-and-down of his chest and the way his fingers dug into the side of the sofa. “There's something about Louis you're not telling me,” Harry realized. “Something you've been purposefully keeping from me. You _asshole_.”

“Harry – ” Zayn started but Harry had already stood, scooping Zayn's phone back into his hand and walking swiftly into the kitchen. Zayn followed closely behind, grabbing Harry's arm when Harry reached for the cupboard underneath the sink where they kept their toolbox. “Harry, what are you doing?”

“Let me go, Zayn,” Harry said softly but Zayn just tightened his grip, a small, worried frown marring his face.

“Harry – ”

“I honestly think I hate you,” Harry continued conversationally, licking his lips as he stared at Zayn. “I love you so much that I fucking hate you.”

Zayn appeared to be at a complete loss for words. The very small rational part of Harry's brain understood why. “Okay.”

“Well, now that that's out in the open, let me go so I can smash your phone with a hammer.”

Zayn blinked. “You know I can't do that, babe.”

“Tell me whatever it is you're keeping from me, or I'm going to smash your phone,” Harry replied. “Those are your options.”

Zayn measured Harry, the intensity of his hazel eyes making Harry shiver. But Zayn let Harry's wrist go and moved to stand on the opposite side of their small kitchen, looking down at his socked feet when he mumbled, “Louis and I used to fuck around and sometimes I think he's still pissed at me for like, ending it or whatever.”

Whatever Harry was expecting – it wasn't _that_. Nothing even close. He knew that Zayn and Louis had a thing in high school or whatever but – Harry hadn't even let himself think that this was an aspect of their past that could still have relevance today.

“Can you please elaborate?” Harry asked weakly. “On like – all of that?”

Zayn pouted, looking like he would much rather do anything else but he sighed and nodded anyway. “I dunno, we were in like eleventh grade or something when it started. Cliche teenage boy experimental shit – at least for me. I was dating girls in high school, too, was with this girl Geneva for most of my upperclassman years. But I always had Lou, too – I loved him, you know? Just not like _that_.” Zayn fidgeted before sighing and rubbing his eyes. “I always knew that I was treating him like shit, completely unfairly, but he just let me so I wasn't gonna stop. Then he went up to fucking Chico for college and I spent my freshman year half dating my sister's friend and half stringing Louis along, and then when he came back to LA for the summer I think I gave him the impression that we would make it for real or something? And I probably wanted to, a little bit. But that all went to shit when I got back to the dorms and was assigned Justin as my roommate and then met Perrie. I don't even know how I aced my classes that first semester because I spent most of it on my back.” Zayn seemed to realize what he said a moment later, blushing and sputtering, “Sorry – you probably didn't – ”

“I don't care,” Harry said, because he didn't, not really. Neither Justin nor Perrie mattered. “Just keep on with whatever you've got to say, yeah?”

Zayn nodded and shrugged again. “I dunno what else there is to it. My whole college experience was a hot mess, pretty much – you know that. I knew I was smart and that I didn't have to put in a whole lot of effort in order to do well, so I could spend a really inordinate amount of time juggling people. Like I would wake up, blow Justin, go to my classes, hang out with Perrie at her place, come back, fight with Justin, and then do whatever homework – all while texting Louis and like three other girls throughout the day.” Zayn paused, frowning. “I was also really high a lot of the time.”

“And what – Louis was just cool with all of your shit?” Harry asked. “Just let you use him? Never said anything?”

Zayn closed his eyes and nodded. “Kinda, yeah. I mean. It worked out, yeah? He met Eleanor through me.”

Harry frowned. “How?”

If Zayn looked uncomfortable before, it was nothing to how he looked now, hooking one foot behind the other leg and crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, like. I guess she had a shit ton of UCLA friends so she was always hanging around at those dumbass campus parties that Justin made me go to. And she was hot – great smile, you know? And she really was always around, I don't know – ”

“Oh my God,” Harry interrupted. “ _Seriously_? You and Eleanor used to fuck?”

“Not exactly,” Zayn mumbled but Harry had the distinct impression that this was an issue of minor technicalities. “It was a thing – with Justin. And it wasn't really anything serious. Perrie and I were dating by then and her and El were friends, too – still are for all I know.”

Harry was honestly at a loss for words. He would _never_ be able to look at Eleanor the same way again.

“Anyway, Louis came down and we went to Cancun for Spring Break – it was like this huge group of us. And by the time we were back in California, Lou and El were completely wrapped around each other and they've been together ever since.”

“Did you think that Louis went after El on purpose?” Harry asked shrewdly. “That he set out to get one of the girls you liked?”

Zayn nodded, chewing his lip. “The thought crossed my mind at the time, yeah. And he never seemed to like Perrie much. But like – it's not like I could fault him. And he and El have been together since the dawn of time now so who cares how it started?”

There was a moment of silence where Harry tried to wrap his head around everything Zayn told him before realizing that he just couldn't process it right now. He might never be able to fully understand it. Harry had never been one of those guys who hooked up with all of his friends – looking back on it, he'd never really even had a legitimate romantic relationship before Zayn. Hell, the people he'd had sex with when he was younger weren't even the type of people he would've hung out with otherwise. Harry couldn't imagine having the sort of tangled, complicated relationships with Niall and Liam that Zayn apparently had with Lou and Eleanor.

“Sleep with all of your friends then?” Harry joked weakly. Zayn snorted but didn't say anything, probably because it wasn't so much a joke as the truth. “So you think all of your pent-up teenage years bullshit explains – ” Harry made a vague waving gesture with his hands “ – all of this?”

Zayn lifted a shoulder. “I dunno. Maybe. Probably not. I've been a shitty friend to him.”

“How come you never told me all of this before?” Harry asked, voice still sounding small to his own ears.

Zayn chewed his bottom lip, shook his head. “I dunno. Didn't seem important.”

“Wouldn't _you_ want to know – if Liam and I once had a thing, or whatever? And he's still around?”

Zayn laughed awkwardly. “No, not really.”

And that, Harry understood suddenly, more than anything, was probably the cardinal difference between the two of them.

Harry sighed and walked back to the living room, flopping onto the couch and staring at the wall, tossing Zayn's phone back onto the coffee table. Zayn came and sat next to Harry, going to touch Harry before thinking about it and putting his hands in his lap.

“Babe?” Zayn asked hesitantly. “Are you okay?”

“I don't hate you,” Harry said. “I just said that because I was upset. I'm starting to wonder if I hate Louis, though.”

“What?”

“Niall was right,” Harry continued, his mind racing faster than he could even speak. “When he told me I needed to stop listening to him and considering him. Fucking why? Just cuz he's your friend? Why is he always fucking involved?”

“Harry – ”

“Oh, and I'm supposed to feel _sorry_ for him because you treated him like shit eight fucking years ago? You treat everyone like shit,” Harry rambled. “This character exposition came too fucking late. He needs to get over it – whatever bullshit there used to be between the two of you, he needs to get over it. If it was meant to be or whatever, it would've happened. He's got a lovely girl and a house and a baby – why isn't that enough?”

Zayn looked at a loss for words. “Harry, I don't think I really know what you're talking about.”

“Of course you don't. You're clearly content with ignoring the fact that he's in love with you or something, and that's fine,” Harry replied. “Let's shotgun.”

Zayn hesitated but did as Harry said, grabbing the blunt from where he had left it on their coffee table and patting his pockets for a lighter.

“On New Years Eve,” Harry started, licking his lips and watching as Zayn sparked up, taking a long pull from the blunt as the ember burned orange-red. “We recorded that video, yeah?” Zayn nodded, exhaling long and slow. “You told me it was just for you, but you were so fucking pleased with yourself the next day, and Louis couldn't even look at me. You sent it to Louis, didn't you?”

Zayn paused and it was all the confirmation Harry needed, Harry nodding to himself and snatching up Zayn's phone. “What are you doing?” Zayn asked as Harry punched the passcode back in and pulled up the video feature.

“Let's make another video for Louis and Perrie,” Harry said, playing around with the settings. “If they want to get involved in our relationship, who am I to stop them? This time you can star.”

Zayn laughed. “You're joking.”

“Nope,” Harry answered, popping the “p” as he let the camera focus in on Zayn's face, watching as Zayn's eyes dilated. “You owe me.”

“Owe you how?”

“You never did tell me how it was that Louis ended up passed out in our bed when we were in Vegas,” Harry replied. “Never did tell me what happened when you went away for your birthday. And you blatantly lied to me about sending that video to Louis. You got your revenge and then some. So yeah, you owe me. Give me the blunt.”

Zayn stared at Harry, eyes so dark Harry couldn't even make out his iris, but he nodded and passed the blunt over, sliding off the couch and pushing the coffee table a few feet back to give him more space. Harry spread his legs as Zayn settled in between them, running light fingers up and down the inside of Harry's thighs. Harry put the blunt up to his mouth, taking a long draw as Zayn unbuttoned his pants. “You're gonna aggravate your asthma,” Zayn warned but Harry shrugged, blowing out a stream of smoke before thumbing the record function on. Zayn grinned, that small little crooked smile where his tongue pushed up against the back of his front teeth, and pulled Harry's pants down along with his underwear. Zayn wrapped a sure hand around Harry where he was half-hard, licking up the underside before taking him into his mouth, closing his eyes and sucking hard. Harry moaned, camera going out of focus as his body trembled with pleasure, and Harry desperately wanted to grab Zayn by the back of the neck and thrust in deep until he could feel the desperate shake of Zayn's throat around him, but Harry just didn't have enough hands, having to content himself with taking another pull from the blunt, flicking ashes onto the floor and watching Zayn suck him through the camera, objectively making note of all of the details that made Zayn so fucking beautiful – the soft hums he made around Harry's length, all angles as his bearded cheeks hollowed, warm hazel crinkling with mirth as his ministrations made Harry come apart underneath him. 

Zayn pulled off of Harry at one point, reaching up and wiping spit and precome off his chin as he grabbed the blunt out of Harry's slack grip, bringing it to his lips and holding the hit in before returning to his position in between Harry's thighs, blowing a stream of smoke around Harry's cock. Harry cursed, phone jostling in his grip before Harry realized that it would probably be best to just turn the video off, dropping Zayn's phone onto the couch. Zayn grinned, whispered, “Saw that in this video once,” and Harry laughed, stroking at Zayn's cheek and guiding Zayn back to his dick, his chuckles giving way to moans as he felt Zayn swallow around him again. Harry wrapped his hands around the back of Zayn's head, scratching at Zayn's scalp and tugging at the strands gently, biting his lip and locking eyes with Zayn. Zayn moaned, digging his fingernails into Harry's thigh and relaxing his throat, and Harry nodded at the nonverbal signal, pushing Zayn down further along his cock, fucking into Zayn's mouth in long, lazy strokes. Zayn gagged wetly and pulled off, breathing heavily but smiling, jacking Harry until he caught his breath and took Harry into his mouth again. Harry came with a quiet gasp, Zayn swallowing around him and wiping his mouth off before killing the rest of the blunt, setting the roach into an ashtray on the other side of the coffee table.

Harry waited until he caught his breath before grabbing Zayn's phone and pressing it back into his hands. “Send it to both of them,” Harry whispered sweetly. “Love you.”

Zayn nodded and did as Harry said, getting up from his position on his knees to start texting. He cursed when Harry pulled his pants down and began playing with his cock lazily, peppering soft kisses along the underside of Zayn's dick, Harry only grinning when Zayn mumbled, “Hard to send revenge porn when you're jacking me off, princess.”

“You can multitask,” Harry said, sticking a finger into his mouth before running the pad of it around Zayn's rim. “Will you let me record you as I fuck you? You know my mom got me that iPad for my birthday – I need to put some videos on it.”

“You're fucking stupid,” Zayn mumbled, but he threw his phone onto the couch and let Harry do just that.

 

When Harry asked, Zayn said that Perrie reacted about as well as anyone could to a video of their ex-fiance sucking off their new partner – with a long string of curses and vows to never speak to Zayn again. Harry shrugged and considered it a job well done. The next time Harry would hear about Perrie, it would be from Justin, a text message saying she had moved to San Diego and met some new guy who apparently wasn't huge on mind games and emotional manipulation, which – whatever. Harry hoped that whoever this guy was, he was distracting enough for Perrie to never think about texting Zayn – or anyone in his family – again.

 

Of course, the situation with Louis wasn't so easily remedied. Harry honestly wasn't even sure how he  _ felt _ about everything Zayn had finally confided to him, to be completely honest with himself. This was probably why Zayn hadn't said anything, to avoid this weird awkwardness that Harry felt whenever he thought about Louis or heard his name mentioned. There was certainly something to be said to Zayn's tactics of feigned ignorance and denial. 

Harry loved Louis – in both platonic and inappropriate ways, yes, but Harry also knew that he wasn't ever going to jeopardize his relationship with Zayn by doing something stupid and meaningless with Lou again. Loving Louis, being fond of him and also being somewhat envious of the relationship and life he had built with Eleanor – that was nothing like being  _ in love _ with Louis, and Harry was in love with Zayn, fiercely, unapologetic, totally. But Harry wasn't sure if Louis would say the same thing – whether Louis realized how stupid it was to interject himself in spaces where he wasn't needed. The more Harry thought about it, especially the more Harry dissected their trip to Vegas, analyzing and over analyzing the things Louis did, the surer Harry became that Louis had a weird  _ thing _ about both himself and Zayn, and that maybe some unresolved bullshit with Zayn did have something to do with it. Because why was he so insistent that Harry and Zayn needed to come hang out with him? Why did he push them so hard on a fucking game of Truth or Dare? How come every time he had too much to drink he ended up in their suite instead of the one where his fucking fiancee was probably waiting for him in lingerie? Even when he decided to distance himself from the two of them toward the end of the trip, it was more like a rebuked dog with a tail in between his legs than like a friend wanting to give newlyweds their space. 

It just – normal people didn't act like this, right? Harry knew that their friend group was clearly incestuous, but with Louis – things were just really fucking weird there. Harry could admit that, could own up to the fact that his own actions contributed to the weirdness, because people didn't throw out, “Oh, let's fuck right next to him” as a way to get revenge, didn't suggest, “Send him another video of us fucking” when they were upset with someone. If Zayn didn't want to acknowledge it, wanted to ignore the problems until they went away, that was his prerogative. It was a stupid and childish way to deal with his issues, and one that Harry had adopted because – well, Harry wasn't entirely sure why – but Harry accepted that that was just the way Zayn had learned to deal with things. Harry though – Harry didn't think he could keep on with it. He needed to fix things with both Louis and Eleanor. He wasn't sure how, but he knew it needed to be done before he and Zayn could hope to put their own fucking house in order.

 

Harry woke up the next morning with a headache, dried come on the inside of his thigh, and three new voicemails on his phone. Zayn was already gone, out leading one of his Comp Lit lectures, and Harry groaned, rubbing his eyes before listening to all of the messages. One was from Liam – “I've got this huge paper for my Ethics class, I was hoping you could proof it because you know my grammar is shit. I'll buy you a burrito if you do – ” but the other two were from Louis. Harry cringed, leaving his phone in the bed as he took a shower, ate granola, and proofed Liam's paper. It wasn't until sometime after two in the afternoon that Harry worked up the courage to listen to Louis' voicemails, chewing his lips to shreds as he pressed “Play.” 

“You know, I actually already had a pretty solid idea that you and Zayn are together,” the first one started. “I know the two of you like to remind me at every opportunity in case I've like – I dunno. Fucking  _ forgot _ , or something. But I actually do know, and you two can stop sending me your amateur porn videos at every fucking opportunity as a reminder, thanks.”

The second one was sent about an hour later, at a point where Louis seemed to have had a few drinks and worked himself into a greater state of annoyance. “Okay, so like. Fuck you. Fuck you, and fuck Zayn. I don't even know what I've done  _ wrong _ this time. I honestly don't. But I fucking get it, yeah? You guys are with each other and I'm not invited, except for how I am because you two will literally have sex right next to me when I'm asleep and send little videos made just for mes, apparently. You're both so fucking dumb.” 

There was some rustling in the background and Harry could hear Eleanor's voice ask, “Who are you talking to? Are you talking to Harry?” Her tone was a bit too suspicious for Harry's liking, and Harry felt something unsettling crawl into his stomach. Harry wasn't sure how he had missed it for so long – the fact that she  _ obviously _ knew all about Louis and Harry, probably had all along. Hadn't she given Harry that long speech about how she wasn't mad at Louis for what he did – that they would work through it, find a path to forgiveness? Harry was so caught up in his own head that he missed the glaring truth, that Eleanor was speaking directly to him as well. 

“I'm just leaving him a voicemail,” Louis answered. “I think he's asleep.”

“Why'd you leave the room to call him, though?” Eleanor asked. “Do you not want to watch Sons of Anarchy?”

“I didn't want to disturb you,” Louis lied.

There was a pregnant pause. “You must think I'm stupid,” Eleanor hissed, clear even though her voice was low. “You must think I'm real fucking dumb.”

“El – ” Louis started but even through the phone Harry could hear a door slam. Harry winced sympathetically and Louis cursed before hanging up.

Harry didn't know what to do, made a small distressed noise before putting his phone down and taking a few deep, steadying breaths, dropping his head in between his knees and counting slowly to ten. Harry groaned as he finished counting, picking the phone up again and sending Zayn a quick text, “Are you busy??” with the hopes that Zayn actually had his phone on. He must've, because five minutes later Zayn was calling Harry, his voice small and worried.

“Are you okay, babe?” Zayn asked, the sound of chatter loud in the background. 

“I just – sorry, are you teaching? I didn't even check – ”

“My class just ended, it's three o'clock,” Zayn interrupted. “Are you okay?”

“Louis left me some voicemails,” Harry answered, running nervous fingers through his fringe. “I just. Eleanor was in the background and she asked who he was talking to and he told her the truth, and I just.” Harry stopped, made himself  _ calm down _ and try to think about what he wanted to say. “Niall told me that she knows about Louis and I hooking up and I just. Want to fix this.”

Zayn was silent for a few moments and then he sighed. Harry could imagine him running his hand over the back of his neck, face scrunched up in thought. “There's something else I didn't tell you,” Zayn replied with a sigh. “I told Eleanor that Louis cheated. I didn't tell her who with but . . . it would've been pretty easy for her to figure out.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

Another beat of silence and then, “Sorry?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Harry asked, but he wasn't even upset, not really. Just  _ tired _ . “What else did you do in your revenge quest that you have been keeping from me?”

“Nothing,” Zayn answered quickly but Harry was sure they both knew how much of a lie it was. God, Harry didn't even know what to say, didn't know how he was supposed to react with every little sliver of truth that Zayn deigned to dole out. 

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and took a few deep, steadying breaths. “Can you like, call Eleanor? See if she wants to hang out – something of her choosing? I remember her rambling about pub quiz a few months ago.”

“Yeah, sure,” Zayn said, sounding a little chastised even though Harry hadn't done anything to cause that tone to creep into his voice. “I'll call her right after I get done on the phone with you. I'm gonna grade some papers and then I'll come get you – we can go get something nice to eat, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry murmured. “Sounds good. See you later. Love you.”

“Love you, too, babe,” Zayn replied and Harry hung up, flinging himself against his pillows and willing himself to take a nap and temporarily forget all of his problems in sleep.

 

Apparently Eleanor was absolutely huge on pub quiz, going down to this small British-themed bar every Sunday in the hopes of winning a $25 gift card and the honor of being crowned a trivia champion. Typically it was just Lou and El, but Zayn helped organize it into a big event, inviting along everyone in their motley crew – Niall and his latest fling, a leggy Latina with an undercut, Liam and Sophia, and Gemma, whose sugar daddy was apparently off in Montana again. “He's bringing his kids out for the summer,” Gemma explained as they all settled around a huge table in the back of the bar, a Spanish league soccer game playing on one of the televisions stationed around the bar. “His daughter's tenth birthday is around the Fourth of July. You're all invited out.”

“A kid's party?” Niall asked with a frown, his gaze still intensely locked on the television screen. “I'm fucking twenty-three, not thirty.”

“It's a  _ rich people _ kid's party,” Gemma replied, her tone slightly exasperated. “I mean – you all need to see his house. He's got an Olympic sized infinity edge pool and a huge vineyard. This huge ass wine cellar. His whole episode is practically an episode of Cribs, like, his property is absolutely unreal.” 

“I'll probably be in LA for Fourth of July,” Liam said with a shrug, but Sophia turned to Gemma with a quiet, “I'm down.” Zayn looked similarly uninterested but Harry knew they couldn't get out of going to this party. Harry owed his sister after how selfishly he'd been treating their relationship over the past few months.

“We'll be there,” Harry said and Gemma beamed before standing, asking around the table to see if anyone wanted anything to drink. Harry was surprised when Eleanor said she was abstaining, but figured it wasn't his place to remark on it. 

Hell, it took Harry a moment before he realized that neither Louis nor Eleanor had even said anything yet this evening besides a polite “Hello” to everyone, and once he did, he wondered how he hadn't noticed it earlier. Their entire body language was all wrong, actually, even though they both looked good, Eleanor sitting with her legs crossed, wearing a simple black bodycon dress, her hair pulled back into a slick ponytail and striking red lipstick only emphasizing the frown on her face, while Louis was growing his hair out long, blue eyes piercing under his fringe, donning an AC/DC tank top, grey jeans, and a similar dour expression. They were turned away from each other, clearly doing everything not to touch. It was strange to see – they were the type of couple to always be connected in some way, little pinpoints of grounding, reassuring contact. And now that Harry picked up on it, he couldn't find it in himself to look away, only redirecting his gaze when he caught Eleanor staring back at him, her countenance vaguely amused and challenging. The inside of Harry's pint glass suddenly became very fascinating, and when Zayn tapped on the inside of Harry's elbow, his eyebrows raised, Harry shook his head once, quickly, a nonverbal, “I'll tell you later.”

The conversation consisted of silly, stupid things until the pub quiz actually began and Eleanor was assigned as scribe since she had the neatest handwriting. Everything went well until the break between the first round and the music section, Eleanor remarking that they were actually a bit of a dream team with Niall's impressive pop culture knowledge and Zayn's general genius. Louis mumbled something under his breath – Harry didn't catch what and later realized that he probably didn't want to – but Zayn pulled a surprised, borderline offended face and Eleanor turned to look at Louis sharply, furiously working the inside of her cheek. 

“I can compliment whoever I like,” Eleanor somehow managed to state politely, calmly. “Maybe if you ever put your brain to good use, you'd get one, too.” 

Niall began laughing nervously, softly at first and then louder. His girlfriend elbowed him in the side, pulling a face in a desperate attempt to get him to stop, but that only caused Niall to laugh harder. Liam looked between Louis and Eleanor, titling his head when he caught Harry's eye, but Harry just shrugged, feeling helpless and uncomfortable. The feeling only intensified when Louis hummed, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like, “Use my  _ brain _ ? That's what Harry's for.”

Harry really could've done without hearing that remark and everyone else seemed to think so, too, if the hushed silence that fell over all of them was any indication. Niall's eyes were wide and he slapped his hand over his mouth before standing and yelling something about needing far more Guinness to deal with the lot of them, leaving his girlfriend to stare around at everyone like she wasn't sure what she had gotten herself into. Gemma stood and banged her way through to the bathroom, which was probably for the best because she looked like she was going to deck someone otherwise, and Liam and Sophia had a quick conversation with their eyes before they both followed Niall through to the bar, dragging Niall's girlfriend along with them. Of course they all left Louis, El, Zayn and Harry alone – this was a confrontation months in the making.

Eleanor drummed her manicured fingers on the tabletop as the others cleared out, raising an eyebrow at Louis. “Feeling brave all of a sudden?” she asked cruelly. “What changed?”

“You have,” Louis retorted. “Like I haven't been in the doghouse for months.”

“And whose fault is that?”

Louis shook his head, frowning down at his hands. “You haven't told me what I've done wrong, El.”

“Don't put this all on me,” Eleanor continued. “You checked out ages ago.”

“ _ I've  _ checked out?” Louis repeated, voice going high. “You're the one who has been drinking like a goddamn fish.”

“Wouldn't you, if you were me?” Eleanor asked. “Knowing that your fiance screwed around on you with your best friend while you were out taking care of yourself and your fucking child?”

Louis went still, his eyes wide before they darted between Zayn and Harry. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Stop it,” Eleanor hissed. “I'm not fucking stupid, Louis. I've known since it happened. And they didn't tell me anything, so you can stop looking at them like this is an intervention.”

“What is it instead, then?” Louis countered. “An ambush?”

“Stop being so fucking dramatic,” Harry interjected.

“Talking about someone getting brave,” Louis retorted, eyes flashing. “You can only ever speak up once there's blood already in the water.”

“Lou,” Zayn said, softly but firmly. Louis looked abashed enough and Harry had to bite down on his tongue in order to not make a remark about _that_. Luckily, Eleanor beat him to it.

“And that's why you're in the doghouse,” Eleanor hissed. “If you want to fucking date Zayn, then you should just grovel until he lets you get a pity fuck in. I'm sick of being second choice.”

Louis' eyes completely bulged out of his head. “I don't – ”

“What did I just say about not being stupid?” Eleanor asked, standing up and snatching her purse up with sure fingers. “We all know you want him – Zayn already told me that he and Harry had a talk about it. So who are you trying to fool?” And with that Eleanor turned and walked purposefully out of the bar, people staring as she went.

Harry watched her go, trying not to chew on his own fingernails, before turning to Louis. “Aren't you going to go after her?” Harry demanded. Louis just stared at Harry blankly, looking nothing but shell shocked. “Fucking – ” Harry stood, patting his pockets to check for his car keys, before standing and punching Louis as hard as he could in the arm.

“What's that for?” Louis asked, rubbing his side.

“For making Eleanor sad,” Harry retorted. “Be grateful it's not your face.”

Harry rolled his eyes and rushed out after Eleanor, looking up and down the street and sighing when he noticed that she was smoking in front of Harry's car a block away. She grinned, small and uneven, when she noticed Harry walking toward her and threw her cigarette to the ground, stubbing it out with her hot pink pumps.

“Figured you would be the one to come after me,” Eleanor said, rubbing at her eyes with her hands, tear-wet mascara staining her fingers black. “Can we – can we hang out at your house?”

“Yeah, of course,” Harry answered, retrieving his keys and unlocking Eleanor's door, pulling it open so she could slip inside. Harry closed it behind her and walked around to the driver's side, taking a moment to collect himself before climbing in as well, punching in a quick text to Zayn – “Amuse Louis for a bit. I'm taking El back to ours.” They were quiet during the fifteen minute drive back to Harry and Zayn's, Harry slipping his arms around Eleanor's shoulders as Harry led her up the stairs to their apartment. Eleanor sighed and sat down on the couch, clicking on Harry's television and switching through channels before settling on a Friends rerun, sinking into the cushions and curling around herself. Harry pulled out a meat plate and cheese, leftovers from the previous night, and a bottle of wine, pouring Eleanor a pretty generous glass and placing all of it on the coffee table, feeling content when Eleanor began nibbling on the offerings, although she did throw the wine back like it was water. Somehow they ended up making their way through a whole bottle, giggling to themselves as they watched television, Harry hoping that Eleanor would talk to him when the time was right.

Harry was unbelievably fond of Eleanor, wanted the best for her, hated when she was sad, hated that he was a contributing factor in any emotional turmoil she was experiencing in her relationship with Louis. He must've mumbled as much, because Eleanor sighed, reaching up to undo her ponytail and scratching at her thigh.

“You're a good friend, Harry,” Eleanor said. “I – I wish you had made different decisions, but I love you a lot.”

“I love you too,” Harry answered.

Harry watched distantly, almost as if he was a spectator in his own life, as Eleanor crawled over, throwing a leg on either side of Harry's hips and wrapping her arms around Harry's neck. Harry brought his hands to Eleanor's waist more out of muscle memory than desire, the feel of Eleanor's soft curves nothing at all like Zayn's lean bulk. “El,” Harry said, laughing nervously. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, you'll sleep with my fiance but you won't sleep with me?” Eleanor asked, rubbing the heel of her palm into Harry's shoulders and scooting, her dress bunching high up her thighs so Harry could feel the heat of her over his crotch. She smelled like red wine and flowers. Maybe in another universe, another world. But this – everything about it was wrong. Eleanor was beautiful, Harry had eyes, but she was drunk and Harry was so in love and had grown so much in the last year or whatever that he couldn't even seriously contemplate indulging Eleanor's self-sabotage. “Just once. I won't tell Zayn.”

“You're drunk,” Harry replied. “C'mon, don't do anything you'll regret just because you're pissed off at Louis.”

Eleanor scoffed. “He doesn't want me. He doesn't love me. Look who's here with me right now. It's not my fiance.”

“Of course he loves you,” Harry argued. “More than anything. I seen the way he looks at you. You two have a baby together. Don't do this, El.”

Eleanor sighed and pushed herself away from Harry, wrapping her arms around her middle and sniffling, her dress still bunched around her thighs. “You're right.” It was mumbled low but Harry could still hear her, even over the laugh track coming from the television. “Harry, you're one of my very best friends.” Eleanor gulped and averted her eyes, whispering, “You know I don't have a lot of my own friends anymore. People lose touch, move away, start their own families.” Harry knew – knew that one day the people he counted amongst the most cherished in his life might be strangers, but he also didn't know what he was supposed to say, if he should even say anything. “All I've got are Louis' friends – you and Zayn. And I mean – it's likely we're gonna break up this year – ”

“El, don't say that,” Harry interrupted.

“No, it's true,” Eleanor answered, voice impossibly small. “We've been talking about it, what stuff we'd need to get in order to make it as clean a break as possible. So what do I do when it happens? When all of my friends aren't mine anymore, but _his_ friends?”

“I'm not just his friend,” Harry replied fiercely. “You mean so much to me, El. I don't want you two to make me pick sides, but you can't just assume that I'd pick his.”

“It doesn't feel like that right now,” Eleanor mumbled. “It hasn't felt like that in a long while.”

Harry didn't know what to say at all. He slumped back against the couch and stared at his hands. “I'm sorry for fucking everything up,” Harry replied. “It was – I never wanted things to be like this. I was just being stupid – young and stupid and selfish.”

“I know,” Eleanor whispered. “I – I've never faulted you. Never. Even though I probably should've. But I can't. I probably would've done the same when I was twenty-two.”

“Just.” Harry paused and sighed. “If you and Louis do end up broken up, it won't be because of me, right?”

Eleanor shook her head, slowly at first and then faster when she caught Harry's eye. “We were having issues before you two hooked up. We've always had our own shit. I don't know. I wish you would've told me when you had the chance – would've taken the initiative. But I understand why you didn't. We all made a lot of mistakes, all of us involved in this. If Louis and I find a way to move past it, then that's great. That's – fuck. That's all I want. If not – hell, I do want to at least say that we _tried_ , you know?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. Eleanor rubbed her hand down her face and groaned before shoving her dress down, moving closer to Harry's side and burrowing against his ribcage.

“Sorry,” Eleanor mumbled.

“Don't apologize,” Harry answered, rubbing her arm. “You're just upset. No harm done. I really do love you, El.”

“Love you too,” Eleanor sniffled, wrapping her arm around Harry's waist and turning back to face the television.

 

Zayn returned something like forty-five minutes later, at which point Eleanor had kicked off her shoes and removed her makeup and Harry had stripped down to his boxers. Zayn's eyes darted between Harry and Eleanor where they were curled around each other on the couch, a distant, almost hurt expression on his face. Harry just stared back, unsure what to say, “It isn't what it looks like” a surefire way to raise Zayn's internal alarm bell. Eleanor snorted at them both, standing up to glare at Zayn properly. “Nothing happened, you can put your hackles down,” Eleanor said. “I'm gonna pass out in your guest bedroom. Your Harry is a real gentleman – no matter what Louis says. Love you both. Goodnight.” And with that Eleanor walked past Zayn and down the hallway, the guest bedroom door closing behind her with a quiet snick.

Zayn turned to Harry with a raised eyebrow. Harry shrugged. “She did hit on me,” Harry answered. “But she's drunk and I told her not to do anything stupid just to get back at Louis.”

“Imagine if you actually took the good advice you doled out,” Zayn mumbled, coming to sit on the couch next to Harry and lying his head on Harry's shoulder. Harry rolled his eyes at Zayn, thinking “What if you did, too?” but otherwise ignored the comment, instead sighing when Zayn threw his legs into Harry's lap, Harry instantly going to remove Zayn's shoes and socks and rubbing soothing circles into the heel of Zayn's feet.

“Louis said they've been talking about splitting or whatever,” Zayn mumbled, grabbing the remote and turning it to fucking Heathers, of all things. “Although that was the first time they openly talked about what you and Louis got up to.”

“Yeah, El told me the same,” Harry sighed. “And that she was afraid that if they do break up, it means we won't be friends with her anymore.”

Zayn laughed humorlessly, running his hands over his face as he shook his head. “Is this what everyone feels like when we're fighting in front of each other? This is insane. _Shit_.”

Harry hummed. “I feel exhausted, babe. If they break up, I don't even know what I'll do. They have a kid together, you know? There's no way it can be a clean break, no matter what they say. And they love each other – there's no doubt about that, yeah? How come that isn't enough?”

“They'll work through it,” Zayn replied, his tone fierce and determined. “They know how to talk to each other – they're already in therapy. None of this is insurmountable. They've got all the tools there. They just have to remember that it's worth it to try.”

Harry nodded, his hands stilling where he had been massaging Zayn's feet. “Am _I_ worth it?”

Zayn glanced up from where he was mumbling along to Heathers, his eyes like pools of honey. “Don't be stupid. Of course you are.”

Harry grinned, leaning over and nipping at Zayn's bottom lip even as a nagging worry came to the forefront of his mind. “How come we haven't gone to talk to somebody, Zayn?” Harry asked. “I mean, Louis and El are, and we've talked in circles about it. So. Really. No bullshit.”

“No bullshit?” Zayn repeated, sighing. “I – I dunno. I guess I'm scared that someone would tell us that we're better apart, or something.”

“Then we just have to show everyone that there's no way that's true, right?” Harry urged. “Because – shit. I don't want to end up like El and Louis. I don't want to wake up in ten years and realize that we've grown apart, feel like I wasted my time and don't have anything to show for it.”

“That's not gonna happen,” Zayn whispered. “Yeah? You're my everything.”

Harry nodded, leaning down to peck Zayn on the lips. “One day,” Harry started, licking his lips, face still so close to Zayn's that he was sure Zayn could feel the small movement. “One day, after we've done everything right, gotten our shit together, I want us to have a proper wedding.”

“We did have a proper wedding,” Zayn said, adorably confused.

“No, I mean – like with our parents there, and all of our friends,” Harry whispered. “Lots of flowers. The big to-do. What we had – our small moment, just us against the world – it worked for us then, helped everyone realize that we were fucking serious about our relationship in a way that I don't think anything else could, but I still want the big wedding, too.”

Zayn bit his lip and shrugged. “If that's what you want – yeah, of course we'll do it.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked, knowing he must look like a kid with the way he was lighting up with happiness from the inside out. “Really?”

“Yeah, of course,” Zayn answered, grinning at Harry. “I'm not gonna like – deny you what you want.”

“Can we have a banana cake?” Harry pushed, smirking slyly.

“That's cute, but no,” Zayn replied drily and Harry bit at his lip to keep from chortling, tickling at Zayn's foot while Zayn kicked out at Harry's hand.

“But I want a banana cake!” Harry shrieked while Zayn attempted to twist out of Harry's grasp. “Banana flavored cake in the shape of a banana. Don't deny me what I want, Zayn! It's my day!”

“You asshole!” Zayn huffed out, finally succeeding in pushing Harry off, only to slide onto the floor with a solid thump. Harry barked out a laugh, hardly able to function with how hard he was grinning, and he didn't even mind when Zayn grabbed him by the foot and dragged him onto the ground, too, only smiling against Zayn's lips when Zayn crawled on top of Harry and kissed him breathless.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done, now.
> 
> [Tumblr](http://catholicschoolgirl.tumblr.com) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/xtracalidopechk)


	10. Part Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were always worse things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, to my betas, Fee and Emily. And thanks, as always, to all of you!

If someone were to ask, and if Harry was in the mood to be completely honest, the thing Harry was probably most afraid of was being made to feel like a backup, feeling like the second-best option. Feeling unloved and unwanted. Harry was the kid of a divorce and the relationship with his biological dad would always be a little strained as a result – so maybe this fear was just the way his brain had come to be hardwired.

Or maybe that wasn't it. Maybe Harry could deal with being second choice, but the thought of everyone _knowing_ , of everyone looking at him with pitying gazes – Harry wouldn't be able to deal with that. His pride was all he had – his pride, and Zayn.

And if there was one thing Harry took away from the weird triangle he had been in with Zayn and Perrie, it was that Harry never wanted his friends to look at him the way Perrie's friends looked at her, eyes loaded and heavy with all of the words they couldn't say.

Which was probably why this moment – sitting in Zayn's lap in the backseat of their car, the threat of tears still likely, Zayn's own eyes red while he raised his chin defiantly – why this moment was so fucking important.

 

Spring came and went like a fluttering breeze, hardly there before it was gone, and in over a blink, it was May, summer and the rest of Harry's life, all of these potentials, stretching endlessly in front of him. UC Berkeley held its commencement ceremony at their huge football stadium, and Harry, alongside Liam, Niall, Sophia, and a few thousand other students, had the opportunity to shake the Dean's hand and walk across a blue and gold stage as their names were read out to polite applause. After the ceremony, Harry's mom blubbered over him, crying over how he was such a _man_ now, a married college graduate with his whole future ahead of him, while Zayn took pictures and made ridiculous faces at Harry from behind the camera. Harry wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to do or say, could hardly even contemplate that he was _done_ with school now, a real fucking adult that could no longer hide behind the occupational title of “Student,” so he just held his mother close and let her get the shoulder of his gown wet.

Zayn made reservations at some new restaurant in Jack London Square in Oakland, so they loaded up in separate cars for a celebratory dinner, Harry basking in how _nice_ all of it was, the good food, his family's company and undivided attention, this amazing bouquet of flowers Zayn got him that Harry couldn't wait to put in a vase on their dining room table. It was just one of those magical days, sunshine and feeling loved and important, surrounded by his favorite people, and Harry had to desperately fight the urge to drag Zayn away and have a covert fuck in this nice restaurant's bathroom just as a way to ground himself and remember that all of this was _real_ , that he hadn't dreamed the last four years up and would wake up in his parents' old place in Walnut Creek, anxious for move-in day at Cal to begin.

“I'm so proud of you, you know?” Zayn said as they walked back out to Harry's car. They were holding hands, push-pulling at each other, coming close and then moving further away, shy almost. “First honors from UC Berkeley. That's certainly an accomplishment.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked, smiling at Zayn through his fringe and his ridiculous cap. He had unzipped his gown, mostly, letting his smart navy blue suit get its own day in the sun, but Harry liked wearing the hat, liked the way it looked squashed over his curls, hadn't thrown it off like some of the other graduates had.

“Yeah,” Zayn confirmed. “You're so fucking smart, Harry. And determined and motivated and ambitious. You're like – I never really have to worry about you, you know? You've got it all figured out.”

Harry paused to look at Zayn, _really_ look at him. He was always – Zayn was never frivolous with his compliments. Whenever he said something nice to Harry, he always fucking meant it, was so sincere that it made Harry's heart hurt a little, made his head spin with elated dizziness. And Zayn was so goddamn smart, in a quiet but obvious way, easily the most intelligent person Harry had ever met, and he just kind of did amazing things every day, a great teacher who got a PhD more out of boredom than anything else, threw himself into learning languages just so he could understand fucking _Don Quixote_ and _The Divine Comedy_ in their original glory, did weird brain games when they were sat in traffic and yet still loved doing dumb shit with Harry like cheating at Monopoly and playing little pranks, could quote the first two Godfather movies and Pineapple Express verbatim, would argue with Harry over the merits of comic books and graphic novels. It was weird, really, how much Harry was in awe of Zayn. And like, Harry knew that people said that about the people they loved all of the time – oh so-and-so is so smart, is so kind, is so thoughtful – but Zayn legitimately shone so bright, was so motherfucking spectacular that he made the rest of humanity look mediocre in comparison, and the thing was, Zayn recognized that about himself. Not in a cocky way, just as any intelligent person acknowledges basic facts. So for him to think that Harry was smart, was capable – Harry wanted to drown in the moment. “Thanks, babe,” Harry whispered, voice coming out raw as they slowed to a stop, the wind from the Bay whipping around them, fingers still interlocked. Zayn just hummed, but his face was lit up with happiness.  “El said there's a house for sale in her and Lou's neighborhood,” Harry said, as casually as he could manage as they started back towards the parking garage. “She said it looks like a good starter property.”

Zayn turned toward Harry, rolling his eyes. “That expensive ass neighborhood? No. Whatever you're thinking, I love you, but no. And the fuck does 'starter property' even mean?”

“It means that there are two bedrooms and a small backyard, big enough for a dog,” Harry said, pulling Zayn closer so he could hook his chin over Zayn's shoulder, stepping on the back of Zayn's designer sneakers as they walked. 

“We can't afford it,” Zayn answered brusquely. “The housing market in Berkeley is fucking crazy right now and like – I thought you wanted to live in San Francisco anyway? Be closer to the job you're starting and everything?” 

“I wanna live in a gorgeous little spot with you – where exactly is irrelevant. And we can afford it. My mom and step-dad said they want to diversify their holdings and my mom always said she would make sure both Gem and I had houses after we finished college.”

Zayn bit his lips and ran his fingers through his hair. “I feel really awkward about asking your parents to help us get a house.”

“They want to, though,” Harry pointed out. “Didn't you say Lou and El got engaged just so her parents would help them get theirs? How is this any different?”

“It's not, I guess,” Zayn admitted. “But like – your parents don't particularly like me.”

“They do, they just think I'm too young,” Harry said. “If I were – I dunno. Twenty-six, maybe? They wouldn't even care. But whatever. It's done – we're married now so there's not much they can say. All we have to do is give them grandkids and then they'll be fine.”

Zayn pulled a face as they finally entered the parking garage, Harry grabbing his keys to unlock the Nissan. “Why are you so insistent on having a baby  _now_ ? Like, you've been talking about this for going on three years and honestly – what's the rush?”

“I just want kids,” Harry said, sliding into the driver's seat and pulling on his seat belt before starting the car engine. He finally threw the cap off, discarding it in their backseat. “Like, life can only get better if we have a little one running around. Mellow us out.”

“I just – it always strikes me as you thinking kids are a way to save a marriage,” Zayn replied. “Keep us from fighting or something. Which is weird, considering you're the product of a divorce.”

This time it was Harry's turn to roll his eyes. “That's not what I'm saying, Zayn. I just – I always imagined my life a certain way, okay? And I don't see the point of  _waiting_ for what I want. Some people spend so long trying to find the love of their life and I found mine at eighteen and life is too short, you know? Like, that's what you do when you find the person who completes you, yeah? You get married, you have kids. That's the way it's supposed to be.”

“And _that_ is one of the worst sentences in the English language,” Zayn answered. “You're not _supposed_ to do anything. Why don't we just – chart our own course?”

“If you don't want to have a fucking baby with me you can just say so,” Harry retorted, trying not to let the creeping anger influence his driving as he backed up and pulled out of the lot.

“I didn't say that, Harry,” Zayn hissed.

“Then what are you saying?”

Zayn just rolled his eyes, running his hands through his hair and scowling. “Whatever. You knew how I felt about this before we even got engaged.”

“No,” Harry protested. “Constantly changing the subject isn't telling me how you fucking feel.”

Zayn fell quiet, resolutely chewing the inside of his cheek. Harry gripped the steering wheel tighter and willed himself into calmness.

 

Harry and Zayn fell into a very familiar routine over the next few days. They weren't fighting, but they weren't good, either. It was – whatever it was, whatever the word was for tiptoeing around each other again. Harry hated to think that it was just because he wanted a baby. But if Zayn wanted to get pissed at Harry for wanting to start a fucking  _family_ and a  _life_ with Zayn, for wanting to intertwine their lives even tighter together, then fine. Harry didn't care. He really fucking didn't.

About a week and a half after commencement, Harry started at the nonprofit his mother had helped him land a job at, a fairly successful little organization located in the Mission in San Francisco. His mother used to be on the board back in the day, and Harry recognized that he totally got the Executive Assistant position due to nepotism, but a job was a job, and the organization did good social justice work, so it wasn't like Harry used his privilege to work at a hedge firm investing in coal and private prisons or something.

The first day was great – Harry came in and was introduced to everyone individually and the entire staff went out to lunch together as a way to welcome Harry to the organization. After work, the younger staff held what they called a “junior staff meeting” and took Harry to Velvet Cantina on 23 rd for drinks and Mexican food. All in all, it was just an awesome way to start his first grown-up job.

The fact that Harry was sharing an office with the Development Director, this kind of sneakily hot twenty-something with dark, curly hair and Ray-Bans really, really didn't hurt.

“His name's Matty Healy,” Harry said when he came home, doing the dishes because he had cooked a quick meal for Zayn even though he was no longer hungry himself. “He's just like – super smart and well-spoken and he had all of these books and movie recs for me, said we could use his Hulu account if we wanted. Asked me tons of questions about what I like, what I wanted to get out of this job. Wanted to see a bajillion pictures of you – he says you're unfairly attractive, by the way. I dunno he's just super nice. And he likes pretentious shit like you do. You'd actually really like him, probably.” Zayn hummed noncommittally, frowning down at something for his new gig at Bentley, and Harry took a deep breath, pulling his phone out and thumbing through the Facebook app before reaching Matty's account, walking back over to the dining room table to show Zayn. Harry thumbed through Matty's pictures quickly before Zayn made a frustrated noise and snatched the phone out of Harry's grasp, clicking back through to Matty's About page and rolling his eyes at whatever Matty had written there.

“He seems to take himself really fucking seriously for someone with a stupid undercut,” Zayn remarked and Harry felt himself choke on air.

“Rude!” Harry exclaimed. “And there's nothing wrong with his hair.”

“Well, if it's so cool and Matty's so smart and well-spoken and amazing, maybe you should pull a Single White Female and cut your hair like his,” Zayn retorted.

“What's your issue?” Harry asked. “Are you _jealous_ or something?” Zayn pursed his lips and Harry could tell that the next comment was going to be scathing even before it flowed out of Zayn's mouth, so Harry just hurriedly continued talking. “You know what – never mind. I was trying to talk to you about my first real day of work, but if you think I'm honestly that fucked up as to just go out and catch feelings for every dude I ever meet – ”

“I didn't say that!”

“Then what _are_ you saying?” Harry asked, hands on his hips. “I feel like you're resenting the fact that I'm trying to be a real adult now, with my own friends and my own aspirations! I can't be your fucking eighteen-year-old secret forever.”

“ _What_?” Zayn barked out, bewildered.

“I feel like I can't win with you sometimes,” Harry said lowly. “Like, I'm trying. I wanna act like an adult and then you get pissed at me for trying.”

“I'm not pissed at you.”

“Bullshit,” Harry answered. “You've been annoyed with me since I brought up kids again, and you were hardly listening when I was talking to you about work. Do you even _want_ to be married to me? Because we could've just kept living in sin indefinitely if that's what you wanted.”

“What the fuck is your issue?” Zayn asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Me not wanting to have kids right now and thinking your coworker has dumb hair means I wanna divorce you? So I just have to do everything you fucking want, fuck what _I_ want out of this relationship – _that's_ your definition of marriage?”

“No – ”

“That's literally what you were just getting at,” Zayn continued. “And that's why I can't take you seriously sometimes, because, yeah, it is a childish outlook on the world.”

“Then why did you even get married to me?” Harry hissed. “Since I'm such a selfish child about everything?”

“Because I _love_ you, fuck!” Zayn yelled. “How many times do I have to say it? I'm not _going_ anywhere, even when you continually shove me away and ask me why I'm so fucking far.”

Harry scrubbed at his face and sighed, groaning into his palms. Harry hummed when he felt Zayn come to stand in front of him, wrapping his arms around Harry's middle and squeezing. It was grounding, even after everything, even when they were both just screaming at each other.

“What's been bothering you so much, babe?” Zayn mumbled, his lips warm against Harry's neck. “No bullshit, yeah? What's wrong?”

Harry shrugged as though he didn't know, as though there was nothing eating away at him. “Can't help it that I need to always be reminded that you're in this with me,” Harry answered, biting down on Zayn's collarbone and letting himself wander down the familiar path that always ended with he and Zayn going to bed together. But Harry's answer was only part of what was wrong with their marriage, and they would both be lying if they said they didn't know it.

 

Harry had forgotten about that Fourth of July party in Marin County in the midst of everything else – trying to end this period of weirdness with Zayn, learning his new job, building friendships with his coworkers and especially with Matty – but Gemma hadn't, of course. She had taken on the task of party planning, and in mid-June Harry received an invitation in the mail, Zayn scoffing at the elaborate card for a fucking ten-year-old's party. Harry sent in his RSVP return card, and on July 4th, he and Zayn loaded up in Harry's Nissan and made the half-hour drive to Mill Valley.

Harry parked down the street outside of Gemma's Sugar Daddy's place, handing the keys to Zayn because Harry didn't feel like trying to stuff them into his tight pants pockets. The house was absolutely huge, Harry could tell that just from the view of the outside, a sprawling property with solar panels on the roof, the entire porch decorated with balloons and signs directing people to an open fence that apparently looped toward the backyard. Zayn whistled lowly as he unfastened his seat belt.

“What did Gemma say her dude _does_ again?” Zayn asked. “Like, how do you even get to the point in your life where you can afford a customized multi-million dollar house?”

“He's a financier for something,” Harry said with a shrug. “One of those firms you kinda have to sell your soul to. I dunno if Gemma even knows all of the details though, really.”

Zayn raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything else, instead stepping out of the car and dusting off his outfit while Harry did the same, locking the car doors before giving Zayn a once-over. Gemma's invitation had insisted on cocktail attire, so Zayn was wearing a pair of black slacks with a bold red button-down and a skinny black tie that he had already loosened in the car, biting his lip as he rolled up the sleeves as well. Harry figured he might as well get as much traction out of his navy blue graduation suit as possible so he took it back out of the closet in the morning, borrowing one of Zayn's skinny ties, and letting Zayn do his hair because Zayn said he had always wanted to. The result was a lot of mousse and his hair swept into his face in a way that Harry hadn't worn since high school, really, back when he didn't know how to manage all of his curls.

“You look really good, babe,” Zayn said, grinning slyly when he caught on that Harry was staring at him.

“You're only saying that because I let you do my hair.”

Zayn shrugged and Harry barked out a laugh, mumbling, “Loser,” before turning back to look at the house. “I can't believe we're going to some kid's tenth birthday party.”

“Yeah, well,” Zayn answered, walking around the car to begin the short walk with Harry to the house. “Anyone else from our crew get dragged out here?”

“I think Niall said he was on his way,” Harry replied. “Liam's back in LA for the summer but he said he's got a job lined up back up here that starts in October. Sophia should be here, though. And I haven't asked Lou or El.”

Harry hadn't even spoken to either Louis or Eleanor in something like two months, now that Harry even thought about it. There wasn't really anything to say to either one of them. Harry knew he'd probably been hard on Louis, had used him as a bit of a scapegoat because that was easier than having a real conversation with Zayn on the 101 reasons why they were a fucked up mess more often than not, but Harry wasn't going to apologize, mainly because he wasn't really sorry.

“Eleanor wanted to come, I think, but Louis doesn't really want a whole lot to do with you or your family right now,” Zayn replied bluntly.

“That's fine.”

Zayn frowned, mouth open to ask something but as they were now fully in the backyard, he was interrupted by Gemma, who shrieked at the sight of them and came over to give them a quick tour of the property. It honestly was scarily impressive – the grassy backyard surrounded by tall, looming trees, an infinity pool serving as the centerpiece, seemingly crashing over the hill, and Gemma said that through the thicket there was also a tiny vineyard. The house itself was a two-story Mediterranean-style design, huge windows and an open, breezy feel as Gemma led them from the backyard through to the kitchen, pouring them each a glass from a bottle of champagne that she said she had stashed away just for Harry and her own friends.

“Daddy says he's super happy I took on all of the planning,” Gemma said as she sipped from her own glass. “His daughter is the youngest and she never got over the divorce. She's always been cold with me, but she's super excited about all of this – gave me a hug earlier.”

“Trying to bribe her with parties and toys then?” Harry asked slyly.

“Well, we both know it works,” Gemma answered, tone dry. “But it's the least I can do, considering all her dad has done for me.”

“How does that work – like what _are_ you and your Sugar Daddy exactly?” Harry asked, hopping up on the counter as Gemma frowned and Zayn came to stand in between his thighs, running smooth hands up the back of Harry's legs. “Is he trying to marry you?”

Gemma scoffed. “It's not like that, really. I told him I don't want to get married.”

“But does he want to marry you?”

Gemma shrugged. “I mean – he's mentioned it.”

“You should think about it,” Harry said. “If he wants to get married, you should at least think about it. If for nothing else, for the money, you know?”

“But isn't that weird, though?” Gemma asked, squinting up at Harry. “Like – all of this is weird, I know that, but I never signed up to be a sugar baby in order to get married. It was all just supposed to be some fun.”

Zayn shrugged. “Who cares whether it's weird? Do whatever makes you happy.”

“If only you two would take your own stellar advice,” Gemma said, raising an eyebrow and looking through the window as both Harry and Zayn frowned. “Anyway, Niall's just got here. Let's go say hi.”

Harry nodded, slipping off the counter and grinning at Zayn before giving him a quick peck. Zayn laughed and slapped Harry's ass before throwing his arm over Harry's shoulder and steering them back outside. Zayn stepped away to get a plate of food for he and Harry to share while Gemma went to play hostess, so Harry walked over to Niall, shouting in his ear to get Niall's attention from where he had a beer in one hand and was grumbling down at the phone held in the other.

“Fucking asshole,” Niall said, but he was smiling so Harry knew he didn't really mean it, especially when Niall brought him in for a hug. “How've you been?”

“Good,” Harry answered, grinning as well. “Really good. Did you have a nice drive?”

“Yeah, it was fine. Hit a bit of traffic on 80 but that's to be expected, I guess.”

Harry nodded. “You haven't gotten a plate yet?”

Niall shook his head. “Nah, just got here. Invited this girl I've been seeing named Alexandra out, offered to pick her up and everything, and she says she's on her way, but.” Niall shrugged.

“Yeah, Zayn's over getting us something,” Harry said with a small smile.

“Do you ever talk about _anything_ else besides Zayn?” Niall asked, quirking his eyebrow. “Like, didn't you start a new job? Don't you have hobbies, interests? Did you not exist before you met Zayn? Did he call you into being out of the void? These are all questions I ask myself every day.”

Harry frowned, more than a little taken aback by the hint of venom in Niall's voice. “You're being mean to me.”

“No, I'm just treating you the way you treat everyone else,” Niall quipped, taking a sip of his beer and then grinning at it with a small, satisfied smile. “Oh my God, this shit tastes like fizzy raspberry juice.”

“Well, you heard Gemma when she was trying to rope us all into coming out,” Harry answered, staring down at his shoes and trying to work out why Niall had been so cutting. “Rich people party and all that.”

“Gemma is so useful,” Niall said wistfully, taking a larger gulp of beer.

“Please don't use that tone of voice when talking about my sister. She's practically taken.”

“Don't worry, I'd never go after Gemma,” Niall replied dismissively. “It'd be like dating you, and God that would be migraine-inducing. I love myself too much for that.”

“Thanks.”

Niall laughed heartily and punched Harry's shoulder as Harry rolled his eyes, still feeling sensitive. Zayn came back a few minutes later, plate loaded down with easily enough food for both of them, and Harry said his thanks while Zayn drifted away again to get himself something stronger to drink, Niall going with him, chattering on about everything and nothing in particular. Sophia arrived not long after, and her and Gemma joined Harry on a place on the grass where Gemma had thrown down picnic blankets, Gemma and Sophia tossing their long hair back and laughing, drinking long and deep from their champagne glasses. By the time Zayn and Niall came back, Harry was feeling fuzzy and full, pleased by Gemma and Sophia's chattering and warm from champagne and good company. Zayn settled down against Harry's side, unbuttoning the top of his shirt and winking at Harry. Harry laid back against the grass, the ground feeling like a comfortable pillow underneath his head, and dozed off.

 

Sophia and Gemma were both standing on the opposite side of the backyard by the time Harry stirred, blinking tiredly up at the sun. Niall was wrapped around a dark skinned girl with soft curves and kind eyes that Harry assumed was Alexandra, and Zayn was playing one of those weird brain games on his phone, another glass of sparkling wine in hand, smiling blindingly at Harry, eyes a little unfocused when he crawled back into Harry's lap. Gemma floated over when she saw that Harry was awake, a conspiratorial look in her eyes.

“Guess who's here, Harry?” Gemma asked, folding her dress underneath her body to sit on the picnic blanket, heels long discarded, barefoot and her toenails painted a pale pink color.

Harry shrugged, smiling when Zayn pressed the tip of his nose against Harry's neck. Zayn was kind of adorable whenever he drank and he was definitely cute now, muttering angrily at the game on his phone. “I have absolutely no idea.”

“Remember Mr. Winston from Bentley?” Gemma pressed. “He and my Daddy are cousins!”

Harry would probably _never_ get used to hearing Gemma refer to this guy she slept with for handbags and free rent as “Daddy,” but then again, Gemma probably hadn't been too excited to hear from Louis that Harry and Zayn fucked while Louis was asleep in the bed next to them. So Harry just pasted on a grin and waved his hands lazily. “Yay, Mr. Winston's here.”

“You're being an asshole,” Gemma grumbled, crossing her arms and frowning at him.

“No, I'm not,” Harry said, even as Zayn pushed himself off of the picnic blanket and walked away without an explanation nor a backwards glance. Harry watched him go with a frown and tried to push down his own confusion and annoyance. What was wrong _now_? Did Zayn drink too much? “I just – I don't know. Don't care about Mr. Winston?”

“Didn't you try to sleep with him?” Gemma asked, reaching across the blanket to grab at Niall's neglected plate and popping a grape into her mouth.

“No, pretty sure that was you.”

“Eh, maybe,” Gemma said with a smirk, shoving playfully at Harry's shoulder. And people liked to joke that _Harry_ had a reputation in high school. Everything he did at Bentley paled in comparison to Gemma's impressive legacy. “Anyway, Mr. Winston – I mean Ben – well, he says he doesn't work at Bentley anymore but that Zayn's name was familiar when I brought him up.”

“Really?” Harry asked. “Was he on the hiring committee?” Harry didn't _think_ so – Harry had badgered Zayn for the names of all of the other teachers Zayn had encountered at Bentley and Zayn had never mentioned Mr. Winston's name. Harry would've remembered – Mr. Winston was one of his favorites from back then, probably one of his favorite teachers ever, save Zayn.

Gemma shrugged. “Dunno.”

Harry hummed, feeling uneasy and not exactly knowing why. “Did you see where Zayn got off to?”

“Think he went and got another drink,” Gemma said, tapping her fingers against her own champagne glass as she glanced around the backyard. Harry followed her gaze and didn't see Zayn at all. Harry laughed hollowly, feeling his anxiety starting to climb when he heard Gemma ask, “Are you okay?”

“Why – what – ”

“You're all red,” Gemma answered, a concerned expression dancing across her face. “Harry, what's _wrong_?”

Harry opened his mouth to deny that anything was off when he caught a glimpse of familiar dark hair across the backyard, in a small alcove almost entirely hidden by trees. Harry stood, ignoring Gemma's startled, befuddled face, and stalked off after Zayn, adrenaline making everything else seem blurry and inconsequential. Harry wasn't even surprised when Zayn and Mr. Winston turned to look at him, in unison almost, both looking like deers caught in the headlights.

And suddenly _everything_ clicked.

 

Harry remembered once in high school, he had gone to the computer lab to talk to Mr. Winston after school. That in and of itself wasn't too strange – he liked to hang out there on days when he didn't have any extracurriculars to distract him and Mr. Winston was always very nice.

This day, though, something had been off. Harry couldn't really remember all of the details, everything fuzzy now with the passage of time, but for whatever reason some comment from a classmate had really cut to the bone, Harry going to his Math class late after lunch because he had been crying in the boys' bathroom and didn't want anyone to know, wanted everyone to think his red eyes were from allergies.

“It's easy for me to tell you that you shouldn't pay those kids any mind, that things are going to get better once you're out of here and in the real world,” Mr. Winston had said after Harry had haltingly tried to relay the story. “But that's not fair to you. You are the keeper of your own feelings, Harry. Feel them as intensely, as fully as you want to. Live in this moment, and try to find your happiness now. Don't be satisfied with old guys like me telling you that you should just look to find your happiness later.”

Harry wasn't sure why that memory jolted into his mind at this particular moment – he hadn't even thought about it in five years. But Mr. Winston looked about the same as Harry remembered him from high school – maybe a little smarter dressed and with deeper laugh lines, but otherwise he could've been plucked straight from Harry's weird seventeen-year-old fantasies.

Harry didn't see how Mr. Winston would've been someone Zayn would go after, though, even a few drinks in – Zayn had a thing for paler brunettes with slight frames, and Mr. Winston was over six feet of sheer brawn. Although Perrie was a pretty obvious exception to Zayn's type, and Harry was too, to a certain degree. Harry guessed it didn't really matter what Mr. Winston looked like besides the fact that he was hot – Zayn would sleep with _anyone_ to prove a point.

So Harry cocked an eyebrow at Zayn, whose countenance had gone carefully blank, and turned to Mr. Winston, smiling large and superficially. “Hey, Mr. Winston. Definitely wasn't expecting to run into you today! How are things at Bentley?”

Mr. Winston seemed uncomfortable and a small thrill dripped down Harry's spine at the realization.

“Harry,” Mr. Winston said awkwardly, eyes darting between Zayn and Harry before settling on the wedding band on Harry's left ring finger. The metal seemed warmer on Harry's finger just by virtue of his gaze. “Certainly good to run into you, too. I'm not at Bentley anymore. I've been at Google for a few months.”

“That's awesome, congratulations,” Harry said, dancing his fingers along Zayn's waist and studying Mr. Winston's reaction, making note of the twitch in his jaw when Harry pulled Zayn in close and rested his chin on Zayn's shoulder.

“What have you been up to?” Mr. Winston asked. “Gemma says you graduated.”

“Yeah, from Berkeley in May,” Harry answered with a smile. “And Zayn and I got married in February, so yeah. Busy year.”

Mr. Winston gaped before he seemed to remember himself, and that was all of the evidence Harry really needed. “Congratulations,” Mr. Winston said, looking like he didn't mean the word at all. “To – to both of you. Now, if you'll excuse me – ” And Mr. Winston nodded, hardly looking at either of them, and walked away, running his hands through his hair in distress before ducking into the house.

Harry let go of Zayn the minute Mr. Winston was gone, the sheer proximity of their bodies suddenly nauseating. Harry laughed hollowly, rubbing the heels of his palm into his eye sockets and hoping all of this was some sort of nightmare.

“So when did you fuck my old Computer Science teacher?” Harry asked conversationally, dropping his arms to his sides and glaring at Zayn. “Was it when you skipped out on your birthday party?”

“I've never – ”

“Bullshit,” Harry interrupted loudly, ignoring when a few of the other guests looked over at him with disapproving faces. “Bullshit,” Harry repeated, quieter and more restrained, but no less angrily. “Gemma said Mr. Winston told her that your name was familiar, and I _know_ he wasn't part of the group that interviewed you at Bentley because I would've remembered. How else would the two of you have met without Gemma or I knowing? When did you fuck him?”

“Harry – ”

“Are you seriously going to keep lying to me about this?” Harry asked, awe coloring his tone. “Is that really what's happening here? How fucking stupid – ”

Harry only stopped because he felt a tugging on his arm, starting at the sight of Gemma's embarrassed, red face. “Not here,” Gemma hissed. “Whatever it is – don't you _dare_ make a scene, Harry.”

Harry choked back his knee-jerk response and instead shook his head once, trying to feign calmness, trying to pretend as though the whole world wasn't falling apart under his feet. “It's okay, Gem, I'm not gonna ruin your party.” Harry turned back to Zayn, fingers shaking when he pulled his wedding ring off and threw it into the grass at Zayn's feet. “Not gonna force you into anything you're not ready for, Zayn,” Harry mumbled and he shrugged at Gemma, who looked absolutely gobsmacked, running his left hand through his hair as he walked away, numbness spreading through his limbs, feeling worse than he had in a long time.

Harry was so angry, wanted to hit Zayn so badly his hands were shaking with the desire but he knew he _couldn't_ , every movement stiff and awkward as he left the backyard, slamming the fence shut behind him. He stalked down the street to his car, patting his pockets for his keys so he could get in and drive the fuck away from here – drive out of godforsaken Marin County and go home – not home, the apartment with Zayn, but _home_ , his Mom's house, to crawl up in the bedroom she kept for him, just in case, and cry while she made him hot chocolate and lied to him about how everything was going to be all right. Only then did Harry remember – he didn't have his fucking keys. He had given them to Zayn for safekeeping. As if Zayn could ever be trusted with keeping _anything_ safe.

Harry turned to – well, he wasn't sure what. He reached his car and just sat down in front of it on the curb, burying his face in his hands and taking a few deep, rattling breaths. He wouldn't cry this time. He wouldn't have a fucking breakdown out front of a kid's birthday party. He _wouldn't_.

 

Harry knew that Zayn had followed him, that Zayn was awkwardly standing in front of him, trying to give Harry his space while simultaneously wanting nothing more than for Harry to acknowledge him. Harry knew this without even needing to look up. It was magnetic, this thing they had between them. This absurd ability to sense each other's presence, even when it wasn't wanted.

“I fucking hate you, Zayn,” Harry said thickly. “I really, really do.”

Zayn didn't say anything. Harry wasn't expecting him to. There were several minutes of silence, the sounds of the party wafting with the wind as Harry tried to choke down and restrain everything in him that wanted to lash out.

Zayn came and sat down next to Harry on the curb, kicking his leg out and staring at the ground. It was so shockingly familiar, deja vu in the most absurd way, that Harry barked out a laugh, surprising himself and covering his mouth with shaking hands even as he continued to giggle wetly.

“What?” Zayn asked, looking at Harry warily. His eyes were red and Harry wasn't sure what to do with that. It wasn't like Harry had never seen Zayn cry – he just didn't do it often. And never about Harry, or their relationship. Zayn only cried over really innocuous things, like _Up_ or _The Amazing Spider-Man 2_ or when he got to talking about how much he loved his sisters. Fuck – Harry couldn't even remember Zayn crying when Harry first told him about what he did with Louis and that – how is that something you don't cry about? Did that just mean that this moment had something in common with fucking Spider-Man? The absurdity only made Harry laugh harder, causing Zayn to frown even deeper, demanding, “Fucking what's so funny, Harry?”

“It's just – don't you remember?” Harry said, forcing himself to sober. “When you left Perrie – outside of Lou and El's. We were fighting and then we were sitting on the curb. Just like this. Like – like a full circle, almost.”

“Full circle how?” Zayn asked, looking down at his cuticles, feigned blase. “You going to leave me, too?”

“I fucking should,” Harry hissed. “You've _embarrassed_ me, Zayn. I never – I figured you cared about me enough to at least grant me my fucking pride.”

Zayn was silent for a moment but then he groaned, digging his hands into his hair. It was such a mirroring gesture – Harry watching as Zayn pulled on his own roots as a grounding mechanism – that Harry felt a sharp moment of pain just seeing the ways they had already embedded shards of themselves in each other. “I'm – fuck, Harry. I'm so fucking _sorry_ , okay?”

Harry had been expecting for Zayn to deny it. That was his modus operandi, right? What he'd already been doing. Deny, deny, deny. Even when it was obvious, even when it was illogical to stick with the lies, even when the other person was turning and walking away. Harry was speechless, felt completely thrown, but not in an unwelcome way.

“It wasn't – I don't even know what it was,” Zayn continued, his hands trembling, rubbing his middle finger and thumb together the way he did when he really wanted a smoke. “Liam was feeling a little pissed at you and so he suggested we leave, just to make you mad. I wasn't interested in doing anything with him at all but I figured that while I was out, I should make it worth it, yeah? Ben was there and I – we went back to the bathroom. We made out for a little bit, and then he got on his knees to blow me, but I was too drunk, and he wasn't doing it right – not like you. I couldn't come.” Zayn paused, screwing his eyes closed and taking a breath. “He asked if I would suck him off, I told him I couldn't – I felt sick. So I just got on my knees and helped jack him off, let him come on my face. And then I felt even sicker – kept thinking about you, about wanting to go home. I tried to puke but I couldn't, so I cleaned off my face and then I had a few more drinks because – you know. And then I told Liam I wanted to go home so he dropped me off and well. You know the rest.”

Harry had been resolutely staring at the ground the entire time Zayn had been speaking, and when he found the internal strength to look up again, Zayn was staring at him, his hazel eyes sad and pleading. “ _Harry_.”

Harry turned away, furiously biting his bottom lip. He wanted to bash his head against the car window. He wanted a line. Or maybe he just wanted to go to sleep – he wasn't sure which one was the most appealing option, but somehow he made out the soft tinkling of children's laughter over the pounding in his own head, the rush of blood in his ears. “You're right. I don't think I wanted to know.”

“Harry, please just _look_ at me, babe.”

Harry shook his head furiously. “I can't.”

Harry heard rustling and then Zayn was crouched in front of him. Harry turned his head but Zayn's hands were already there, threading through Harry's hair. It felt good even as nausea sat high and heavy in Harry's stomach. “Harry,” Zayn said, and fuck, his eyes were just _so red_ , tear tracks decorating his honey colored skin, his feathery eyelashes clumped together. Harry shouldn't have found it as hot as he did. Is this the reason why Zayn was always fucking with him – to get Harry to cry so prettily? Harry finally felt like he understood the allure.

“I'm not going to leave,” Harry whispered, looking up and locking his gaze with Zayn's. Harry knew it was the truth the moment he said it. God, he was so fucking _stupid_. He knew it, knew that all of their friends were going to shake their heads and judge his decision, but they already judged every fucking aspect of his and Zayn's relationship. And Harry loved Zayn. He wasn't going to throw away four years and a marriage because Zayn was dumb and made a mistake. It would be hypocritical, the worst thing to do considering the awful choice Harry made himself. They would work through it. They would go to therapy or – whatever. They would find a way to live happily ever after. “I'm not going to leave you.”

Zayn nodded, letting out a long breath before resting his forehead against Harry's. “I'm so sorry. I know you don't believe me, but – it wasn't worth it. It wasn't worth _this_ – you, our marriage. I would – God, Harry. If you left – ”

“You don't have to say anything,” Harry said. “Because it's exactly how I'd feel if you left me.”

“But you don't ever have to worry about that,” Zayn answered fiercely. “There's nothing, fucking nothing – ”

Harry surged forward and kissed Zayn, relishing the salty taste of tears on Zayn's lips. Zayn was greedy and eager underneath him, scratching at Harry's neck and pulling at him as if it was possible to get closer. As if they could ever be closer, more in sync, more of everything they already were.

Harry remembered watching a film with some of the other kids on his floor when he studied abroad in high school. They were put up in a university's dormitory as part of the program, and one of the girls in his class was obsessed with the Italian actor Riccardo Scamarcio and was steadily making her way through all of his films, pulling up  _ La Prima Linea _ without really knowing what it was about and inviting everyone into her room for a movie night, projecting the film against old plaster walls. Harry watched a lot of movies while he was in Italy, trying his hardest to take in everything so he could return home and be a proper Italophile, but somehow this one was the only film that had a real lasting impact. The movie was based on the real lives of radical activists in the 1970s who were willing to resort to terrorism in order to defend their beliefs, a love story between a man who becomes disillusioned and the woman who keeps him invested, and a daring plot to break the woman out of jail. Harry didn't really like it – it upset him quite a bit, actually. He just couldn't understand it. 

Now, though. Harry felt like he _got_ it. Zayn did a lot of things Harry didn't understand, and Harry was sure the feeling had to be mutual. That didn't mean Harry wouldn't do everything for him – wouldn't hatch a harebrained plot to break Zayn out of jail if he ever needed to. Maybe not always understanding Zayn was the reason why Harry was willing to do whatever he could for Zayn, why he clung to him with such desperate fingers.

Zayn slipped Harry's keys back into his hand before laughing a little deliriously, reaching into his other pocket and presenting Harry with his wedding ring. Harry smiled, shaking his head, and laid his hand out so that Zayn could put the ring back on. Zayn fell forward and kissed Harry, both of them grinning against the other's lips, before Harry broke away, panting already. Harry walked backwards, still holding onto Zayn's fingers, before turning and unlocking the backseat. Harry smirked and shoved Zayn into it, relishing Zayn's surprised expression as he landed on his back. Harry climbed in after him, closing the door behind them and throwing his keys onto the driver's seat before pressing himself along Zayn's front, his hands gliding over Zayn's before squeezing his knuckles around Zayn's fingertips. Zayn gasped and Harry pressed his lips against Zayn's neck, no biting, no sucking, just letting his mouth glide over Zayn's skin, letting himself relearn the thrum of Zayn's blood as it pulsed underneath his tongue. Zayn's eyes fluttered and Harry wished he was recording this, wished he had tools more powerful than his silly, stupid, faulty memory to help him think back on this later, when he would most certainly have moments of weakness, moments where he wondered whether Zayn would get sick of him, moments where he thought about testing Zayn again. Because now – now Harry had no doubts. Harry had never seen Zayn so vulnerable, had never witnessed just how invested Zayn was in their relationship. Zayn was good with turns of phrase, an excellent wordsmith who could say all of the right things. But this time – this time he just said _the truth_ , and Harry felt like they were on even footing, both laid utterly bare and that was –

Zayn's fingers danced over Harry's fly, his touch feathery light and teasing. Harry licked over the juncture between Zayn's neck and shoulder and Zayn pulled Harry's zipper down, reaching his hand into Harry's boxers and squeezing Harry's cock, his knuckles rubbing against cotton fabric. Harry groaned and Zayn brought his hand back to his mouth, licking a stripe up the palm before reaching his hand underneath Harry's boxers to press sure fingers to Harry's dick, stroking Harry to full hardness, slow and lazily like they weren't in the backseat of a Nissan outside of a kid's birthday party, slow and lazily like Zayn didn't care if a neighbor walked by and saw, slow and lazily like he wanted Mr. Winston to come out from the party and see them. Harry made a small desperate sound, Zayn regretfully letting go of Harry's dick as Harry pulled his clothes off and threw them all onto the driver's seat, leaning against the back of it and nodding for Zayn to sit up. Zayn did as Harry wanted, pulling his own pants down and off and then doing the same for his boxer briefs, already hard just from teasing Harry.

“Do you remember if we have any lube stashed in here?” Harry asked.

Zayn shrugged, fondling his balls lazily. “Don't know. Call Gemma and ask her to bring out some Crisco.”

“Perv,” Harry said, turning and leaning across the passenger seat to rummage through the glovebox. Zayn slapped his ass and Harry threw him a filthy look before continuing his search. “We've got Vaseline and cocoa butter,” Harry replied with a frown. “I mean, Vaseline was fine – ”

“No, that stuff was way too hard to clean off my dick and we're still in the car, like a half hour away from our own shower,” Zayn protested. “I don't even want to think about how it must've been for you.”

Harry shrugged before searching through the console space. It really had been fine. “You'd almost think we would've left some olive oil in here, just as a precaution considering how obsessed you are with using it.”

“I feel like we've got to have at least some fucking Astroglide or KY,” Zayn replied, batting Harry's hand away to sort through all of the junk. Harry's car was actually a barely contained mess – he had a habit of sticking things in all kinds of places, and Zayn did the same whenever he was in it – so they spent a good five minutes looking for lube before discovering a small, half-used bottle hidden in one of the side doors. “Awesome,” Zayn said to himself, slicking his fingers up and beckoning for Harry to come sit in his lap. Harry settled himself on Zayn's thighs, his cock bumping against Zayn's, and Zayn leaned forward to kiss Harry, slipping his tongue into Harry's mouth as he circled Harry's rim with a finger and slid it inside. Zayn trailed his free hand over one of Harry's nipples, running the pad of his index finger over it before pinching it, and Harry very quickly felt overwhelmed, Zayn was just _everywhere_ – in his mouth, on his skin, inside of him, one, two, then three fingers deep, almost like Zayn was a part of him.

Harry pulled away long enough to mumble, “Zayn,” and then Zayn was slowly removing his fingers, squeezing more lube into his hand and slicking himself up, looking up at Harry, his eyes asking for affirmation. “Yeah, always,” Harry replied, punctuating his promise with a chaste press of lips, and Zayn smiled at Harry, so sweet and giving and Harry couldn't help it, raising his hips and wrapping his arms around Zayn's neck, kissing him long and hard. Harry could feel the shape of Zayn's grin against his own, and then he felt Zayn's cock nudging at his entrance, letting out a long breath as he pushed down on Zayn's dick and felt Zayn press up until Harry was fully seated on Zayn's lap. “Yes, Daddy,” Harry moaned, throwing his head back, and Zayn swore, bringing one hand to Harry's hip and wrapping the other around Harry's cock, sitting back with a smug smirk.

“You know what to do,” Zayn said and Harry raised an eyebrow, clenching around Zayn while his pretty face screwed up in pleasure.

“You fucking know I do,” Harry answered, repositioning his legs on the backseat before rocking up and fucking back down in that agonizing way he knew drove Zayn crazy. And Harry was saying the wildest shit, saying things he knew he could never say to anyone else, goading, “Anyone else ever sit on your dick like this, Daddy?” and “Anyone ever fuck you this good?” But Zayn loved it, mouth open and eyes dark as he fucked up into Harry with these torturous rolls of his hips, his fingernails digging into Harry's thighs as he snarled back, “You love this cock, Harry,” punctuating it by running his hand over Harry's nipples, down his back, smacking his ass. The backseat wasn't that big, Harry was hunched over and it was awkward but he was still so keyed in, so fucking turned on that he was leaking all over Zayn's stomach while Zayn jerked him slow, feeling like he was eighteen all over again, so hard and so eager to please, willing to drop to his knees whenever and wherever Zayn wanted like he had something to prove.

Zayn came first, his face beautiful, wounded as he shot inside of Harry before burying his face into the crook of Harry's shoulder. Harry let him breath for a few moments and then Zayn was pulling out, Harry moving so he fell across Zayn on the other side of the backseat, legs still in Zayn's lap, content to finish himself off. Zayn watched Harry with hungry eyes before batting Harry's hands away from where he had wrapped them around his cock, grabbing Harry's legs and throwing them over his shoulders before wrapping a loose fist around Harry's dick and bringing his tongue to Harry's hole. Harry just – fuck, he wasn't expecting it, Zayn had never done _that_ before, and it was just so dirty, Zayn bringing his mouth there when his cum was still streaking down the inside of Harry's thighs, but it felt _really fucking good_ and Harry sunk his fingers into Zayn's hair, begging Zayn to lick further inside of him with moans and cursing encouragements, pulling at the strands and yelping as he shot off over Zayn's fist and onto his own stomach.

Harry took a few moments to come down, his heart beating a million miles a minute – fuck, he was a little surprised he hadn't passed out. Zayn ran his fingers over Harry's balls, smiling when Harry hissed, and rested his head against the backseat, looking over at Harry with a smug grin. Zayn's face was streaked with cum when he leaned over Harry, teasing, “C'mere, princess. Give Daddy a kiss.”

“You're gross,” Harry said, pushing Zayn's face away even as he smiled. “Didn't know you were going on an all-ass diet.”

“Can you blame me, though?” Zayn asked, wiping his face off with his arm, eyes dark. Even though he had just come, he was still hard, ready to go again like _he_ was the twenty-two-year-old without a refractory period. Zayn's sexual stamina was honestly something to be admired.

“We need to go. You should drive,” Harry said even though he really would not mind letting Zayn fuck him again instead. He would probably be oversensitive as shit but there were worse things. There were always worse things.

Zayn nodded and Harry pulled back on his pants and underwear before exiting the car and going to sit gingerly in the passenger seat, tossing the rest of his clothes into the back so Zayn could slide up front. There was a moment where Harry thought he would see Mr. Winston on the front porch, watching them, but there was nobody there. There weren't any more ghosts standing between Zayn and Harry, really, impeding their happiness. Everything was out in the open. Maybe now they could move forward.

Harry knew he was probably dumb to think this way, after everything, all of the lies and their shit attempts at fidelity, but as Zayn turned on the car and sped away from the curb, away from Marin County and everything that godforsaken Mill Valley would represent to them from now on, Harry honestly couldn't help but feel happy and optimistic.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only an epilogue left. I had grand intentions of finishing it at the same time as this chapter but, alas. 
> 
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	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's remarkable the way buried memories sometimes reemerge during the most unexpected times, nagging and insistent, demanding to be felt and re-experienced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY THIS IS SO LATE, MY GOD.
> 
> Thank you SO SO MUCH to my betas Fee and Emily. You are both so amazing and this fic would've been a HOT MESS without your help, hand-holding and endless support.
> 
> Thanks as well to Rue for cheerleading me through this last little hurtle. I definitely appreciate it.
> 
> You're all so great and nice to me. Thanks for reading and leaving comments and hitting up my inbox. This is the longest thing I've ever written and it's been a huge labor of love. I'm so deeply appreciative of the support you've all shown me and the constructive criticism you've provided along the way. My writing has improved so much just over the past year because you all keep motivating me to do something I forgot I loved to do. Really, this little epilogue is for all of you. I hope you enjoy it.

Louis fucking _hated_ moving. He especially hated getting drafted into helping other people move. But alas, Louis was probably the best friend in the entirety of the universe, and all it took was Zayn making his stupid pleading face one day when they met up for drinks after work, Zayn promising pizza and beer and his eternal undying love and affection for Louis to show up at Zayn and Harry's new house at nine in the morning to help get all of their stupid shit out of Harry's car, Gemma's Mercedes, and the moving truck.

Louis still wasn't entirely sure how his existence had ended up being such a fucking mess. Helping his best friend and ex-fuck buddy move into his first big boy house with _his_ fuck-buddy turned husband, who Louis also incidentally fooled around with in what was probably the poorest decision of his life – and that included thirty-two years worth of really ill-informed choices. In fact, the past three years of Louis' life was rather like a soap opera or one of those dumb paperback romances Eleanor always insisted on adding to the cart whenever they went to Ross to pick up cheap outfits for the baby.

But it was about two years after his monstrously huge mistake, and a year and some change after Zayn and Harry decided to elope, and not a lot had changed, really. Louis and Eleanor were still in couples therapy, were still shit parents who didn't have the slightest clue what they were doing more often than not, but Eleanor's parents had moved up from Malibu to be closer to Riley and to help with some of the logistics of raising a child with some special needs, and it seemed like Eleanor and Louis were both getting better at voicing things about their relationship that bothered them instead of burying them deep inside and pretending like they didn't exist until it got to be such a huge issue that it blew up in both of their faces. Louis also _finally_ fucking finished his PhD and got hired on at Cal State East Bay to do some lecturing in the History Department. Life wasn't perfect, but it _was_ better, in small and important ways, and that was all Louis could really hope for.

He still wasn't entirely excited to be helping Harry and Zayn move their stuff, especially when Harry was being a little shit about _everything_.

“No, don't put that box there,” he said earlier after running halfway across the house, hair pulled back with one of his dumbass bandanas. “See how it's labeled 'Kitchen'? It goes in the kitchen.”

“Harry,” Louis replied emphatically, looking around himself to check that he was indeed in the kitchen. There was a fridge to his left and a sink to his right, so he had assumed he was in the correct location. “I'm in the kitchen.”

“Well, but you see, kitchen things actually go in the dining room so we don't trip over them,” Harry replied. Louis blinked. “You know. Like that stack over there? For us to put away later.”

Louis continued to stare at Harry before deciding he really didn't care, leaving the box in the middle of the kitchen floor for Harry to trip and die over.

As the day progressed, Louis reflected on his growing conviction that Harry was honestly the human embodiment of everything that was wrong with humanity specifically and the universe in general. Sometimes when Louis got really introspective, he liked to think about how Harry was very likely spun out of negative matter or vomited out of the bowels of the earth, fully formed and with a tracker programmed to lead him directly to Zayn. Louis would put money on it, actually. That wasn't even Louis being mean or bitter – he legitimately wondered if Harry had a life before getting with Zayn, and what Harry would be doing with himself if he and Zayn _hadn't_ ended up together. Did he ever have dreams or aspirations? Was the goal always to meet someone at college and immediately settle down? Harry would probably say it was fate or whatever, that he and Zayn were destined to meet in that History class, blah blah blah, but Louis had yet to be fully convinced that there was anything particularly romantic about a teacher fucking his student, inflating his grade, and then dumping his fiancee in front of all of their friends so he could go have more sex with his former student in the backseat of a Nissan Altima. But that was just Louis, and it didn't stop Louis from egging Harry on every step of the way.

In their five or so years of knowing each other, though, Louis had never really heard Harry talk about his life prior to starting college. Everything Louis had heard about Harry's childhood was through Zayn, typically as an explanation or excuse for Harry's shitty behavior – “Oh, well you know he's got youngest child syndrome” or “He's never been in a relationship besides ours so he's still figuring shit out to some degree” or “He's kinda insecure because of some shit that happened while he was in high school.” But never details. Always vague, broad, very specific characteristic traits explained away cavalierly, Zayn waving his hands in that blasé, dismissive way of his.

Louis was still ruminating about all of this when they finished bringing Harry and Zayn's boxes and furniture into the house, Zayn pulling a cooler out of Harry's car and inviting the lot of them assembled to help to have a mini picnic in their backyard. Their outdoor space was very nice, all things considered. The house itself wasn't anything particularly extravagant, a cozy little two-bedroom spot above MacArthur in Oakland, but the backyard was bordering a park with a small little orange tree planted in the corner and lots of grass for everyone to sprawl across. Louis was sure Zayn and Harry had no complaints – Harry's parents were loaded and had bought Zayn and Harry the house as some weird rich people wedding present, and Harry was already rambling on and on about how now they had the space to get a dog and a cat and a parakeet even though Louis was actually pretty sure that their old space in Berkeley had more livable square footage.

Gemma and Sophia were having a confab that Eleanor was sitting on the fringe of, while Louis plopped down on the back porch with Niall and Liam. Harry and Zayn had already fucked off somewhere – presumably to have sex on top of some boxes – and Liam was complaining about his boss at work while Niall took a spoon to an avocado, eating around the pit in a way Louis had never witnessed before in his life.

“That's gross, Horan,” Louis interjected.

“Your face is gross, Tomlinson,” Niall mumbled, licking his spoon and brandishing it at Louis, who frowned.

“Not as gross as yours.”

“Mature,” Liam answered, rolling his own eyes. “Still can't believe they got us all out here to just move some boxes from their car.”

“Yeah, well,” Niall replied, shrugging. “We're dumbasses for letting them.”

“I just wanted to see the house before they filled it with dildos and bananas, to be honest,” Louis answered while Niall erupted into a fit of giggles. Louis smiled – Niall was and always would be Harry's friend first and foremost, but Louis was extremely fond of him and always felt like he was winning something whenever he got Niall to laugh.

“You're gonna have to be coughing up soon, you know,” Liam mused contemplatively once Niall recovered.

“What do you mean?” Louis asked.

“Not _you_ ,” Liam said with a shake of his head. “Niall. It's almost been two years. I'm eagerly awaiting my $75.”

“Hey, hey, let's not get cocky,” Louis answered with a smile. “Niall could still have us beat. It hasn't been a full two years yet. Anything could happen.”

Liam barked out a laugh, smirking at Louis even as he shook his head. “Just because _you_ bet $200 for seven months and a poor tattoo choice – ”

“Nah, I think Niall made the most educated proposal,” Louis disagreed. “You just wait and see. Five years is wildly optimistic.”

“Five years is _not_ wildly optimistic – ”

“With those two crazies?” Louis scoffed, pointing back into the house where Zayn and Harry were very likely coming all over themselves at the idea of getting off while their friends were outside like the fucked up nymphos they were. “Niall is a pragmatic soul and clearly made the most educated guess.”

Niall looked up from the remnants of his avocado to leer at Liam. “Here that, Li? _Pragmatic_.”

“It's all right tho, Payne-o,” Louis continued, clapping Liam on the shoulder. “Just think – you could've been Eleanor. Putting down $150 for life-long commitment.”

“You shouldn't mock your girl for being a romantic,” Niall chided as he tossed the avocado skin and pit on the ground. “I still think the odds you assigned her were really unfair.”

Louis shrugged. “I still contend that three bazillion to one odds are very reasonable.”

“You never know though,” Niall said. “I mean, I never expected for them to get a house and to start talking about babies.”

“You need to stop getting your relationship updates from Harry,” Liam interjected. “I'm pretty sure that Harry yelling at Zayn to take their relationship to the next level is _not_ the same as talking about babies.”

“And since when have you been buddy-buddy with Zayn?” Louis asked, a little impressed in spite of himself.

Liam frowned. “He's one of my closest friends? I talk to him like every day?”

“Since when?” Louis demanded while Niall simultaneously asked, “Does Harry know that?”

“Uh, since we went to Vegas however long ago, and I dunno, probably not,” Liam answered, addressing Louis and Niall in turn. “But yeah, Zayn texted me a few days ago, actually, and said Harry's been on his back about babies more than usual lately and wanted to know the best way to distract him from that line of thought.”

“They're so weird,” Niall pondered. “Like – it's not just me, right? Like, they're fine individually but then when they get together they just become hyper-weird.”

“Nah, they're weird and barely functioning individually but then when they get together they just become weirder and even less functioning,” Louis put in with a frown. “But yeah, Zayn didn't always used to be like this, you know? I mean, you guys didn't really know him when he was with Perrie since he was too busy trying to keep Harry his little secret, but Zayn and Perrie were a couple and they were cute and all, but they were never really _together_ , you know? And even before her – Zayn would be in relationships but it always kind of read like a lone wolf deigning to hang out with the masses for an hour or something. So to see him so fucking dependent on another human being – I don't know. It's still just a little jarring.”

“Are you just saying that cuz he didn't end up with you, though?” Niall asked, not even meanly. Just plainly. Niall had a way of nicely asking questions that other people would get kicked in the mouth for. Louis wasn't even sure when his and Zayn's previous thing became common knowledge in their friend group – Louis assumed Harry's big mouth had something to do with it, but it was just as equally possible that Eleanor said something during one of her wine binges. They were all pretty well-versed on each other's secrets, though. Liam and Niall knew all about Eleanor and Louis' problems, and Louis knew that Liam wanted to marry Sophia but thought she was too good for him and made a few fuck ups with other girls during a fit of self-pity, and that Niall was so scared of commitment that he purposefully chose emotionally unavailable people. They all had skeletons in their closets – Louis just didn't keep his very far from the front.

“No,” Louis replied, drumming his fingers along the inside of his thigh. “At the end of the day, I never expected Zayn to end up with me. I know we're a little weird around each other sometimes but like – for real dating him would've probably been a nightmare.”

“Why?” Liam asked.

“Because I think really liking someone brings out the worst in him,” Louis explained. “He doesn't even realize it, but he used to act the exact same way with Justin back in the day.” Louis physically jolted as an old memory suddenly popped into his mind, so vivid and telling Louis almost didn't understand how he had forgotten about it. “Oh wait – wait. Did I ever tell you guys about the time Zayn, Eleanor, and I all went to Mexico?”

“You went to Mexico?” Niall asked. “When?”

“For this like weird summer trip right after we all graduated college,” Louis answered. “I nearly blacked that trip out of my mind, actually . . . ”

 

 

It's remarkable the way buried memories sometimes reemerge during the most unexpected times, nagging and insistent, demanding to be felt and re-experienced. A few hours Louis had forgotten all about with the passage of years – two boys, one blunt, a shitty hotel room and a hazy sunrise.

 

“I don't think I'll ever get married,” Zayn started, eyes red from exhaustion, golden skin turned a deeper, warmer brown from the sun's unrelenting rays. His pants were so low slung that Louis could see the faint line separating warm tan from the paler V of his hips but Louis tried to force his eyes from that sight, tried to make himself study Zayn's face instead, even though every angle and plane of his body was equally entrancing.

“Yeah?” If Louis was disappointed, he hoped it didn't show. Hoped that tilt in his tone would be hidden underneath the larger current of fatigue, hoped that Zayn wouldn't peer at him too closely. Not that Zayn had paid close attention to Louis in years, had long written off the strange tension between the two of them even if they both occasionally indulged in behaviors that they should've long grown out of. That was fine. Louis had stopped hoping that he and Zayn would end up riding off into the sunset together, although it would have been nice to have some sort of closure before Zayn went off to New York and Louis moved to Seattle.

But Zayn getting crossfaded and contemplative – that was also fine. They hadn't sat around and just got fucked up together in a long time, and Zayn got talkative when he was high. Louis loved hearing Zayn talk, hearing him work things out in looping, quiet sentences. And there was probably a lot for Zayn to work through, considering Justin's proposal to his on-again, off-again girl during dinner the previous night. Everyone had laughed and clapped and smiled at the dainty ring donning Selena's finger, but Louis noticed the way Zayn slipped out of the spacious back room of the restaurant as soon as his quick mind could come up with a convincing enough excuse, fingers already twitching against his thigh for something stronger than nicotine. Louis always knew Zayn's tells and always knew how to best serve as a distraction, and if he let Zayn pull on his hair while they stood against the back wall of the restaurant, nobody needed to know.

“Yeah,” Zayn confirmed, blowing out a thick column of smoke and watching as it traveled through the room Zayn had been sharing with Perrie. Louis wasn't entirely sure where she was, didn't know where Eleanor was, either. Louis had been glued to Zayn's side practically all night, boys hangout and all that. “I _used_ to think I would marry Justin – when we first met and everything was all brand new. Guess I didn't know any better.” Louis frowned and bit back his own sniping comment. Louis knew that it wasn't Zayn's fault that he had a bad habit of falling in love with stupid people at inconvenient times, but it was still annoying that Zayn refused to see the good inside of himself and only went after people who brought out the absolute worst.

“You'll probably end up married to Perrie,” Louis replied instead, beckoning at Zayn to pass the blunt over. “Two kids and a dog. White picket fence. Happily ever after.”

“Dunno,” Zayn answered, scratching the back of his neck and looking uncertain. “I just – I'm not sure if I'm built for it.”

“Built for what?” Louis asked around an exhale, handing Zayn the blunt again.

“Like, monogamy or whatever,” Zayn whispered.

“Do you think it's cuz you haven't met anyone who made you want to be monogamous?” It kind of hurt to ask with everything still unsaid between the two of them, with the bite mark on his hip that Eleanor would probably press manicured fingers against, later, but Louis still wanted to know.

Zayn tilted his head, considering it. “Maybe. I mean. I've thought about it but like – I dunno. Nobody's ever asked me to only be with them.” Louis scoffed before he even realized it, wished he could take it back at the stricken look on Zayn's face. Zayn was kind of absurdly sensitive sometimes. “I would've,” Zayn continued, defensively. “If I'd been asked, Louis, I would've.”

There was a knock at the door and Zayn stood, face still looking a bit tortured even as he brushed nonexistent lint off his shorts in his brief walk across the room. Louis rolled his eyes and willed himself to be patient, to be calm and cool, trying to think of ways to apologize to Zayn even as he prepared himself for Justin's entrance. Louis just knew it would be him before he entered the room, looking every inch the douchebag he was. His short brown hair was styled up in spiky tufts, similar to Zayn’s, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt, only black board shorts, obnoxious yellow socks, and Jay’s. He brushed past Zayn as he walked in, hands skimming over Zayn’s hips in that small, familiar way that made Louis’ heart ache, and nodded at Louis, the same smug smile on his face that he always wore whenever he and Louis were in the same room.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve coming over here, you know,” Louis said as close to conversationally as he could manage, passing the blunt back to Zayn once he came to stand in front of Louis once more. Louis and Zayn had never talked about it, but Louis was sure it was common knowledge at this point that he wasn't Justin's number one fan. Louis had once heard via Eleanor that Justin thought Louis was jealous, said that the only reason Louis had to hate Justin was because Louis obviously wanted Zayn to himself and couldn't share, as if Zayn was a toy at the playground that everyone got a turn with, a neat chart on the chalkboard delineating the rotation. Zayn might think of himself that way, deep down in the well of insecurity he tried not to acknowledge, and Justin certainly thought so, but Louis couldn't imagine viewing Zayn in such simplistic terms.

“Dunno what you're even talking about,” Justin answered, tone bored and disinterested. “Just wanted to come chill with you guys for a little bit, if you'll let me in on the rotation.”

Louis turned to Zayn, raising an eyebrow, and Zayn just stared back, taking another hit and holding it for an absurdly long amount of time. Zayn then passed the blunt to Justin and Louis coughed pointedly, frowning at Zayn. “What?” Zayn asked.

“It's my bud and my swishers,” Louis said.

“I'll give you money?” Zayn replied, bewildered.

“Fucking forget it, Zayn,” Louis mumbled, throwing himself against the bedsheets and rubbing the palms of his hands into his eyes. Being around the two of them was giving Louis a migraine and they hadn't even really _done_ anything. Louis probably needed to take a nap.

It was quiet for several minutes, the only sounds the crash of the ocean outside and Justin’s long pulls on the blunt, but Zayn ended up clearing his throat after some time, Louis sitting up to look at him.

“He is right tho, J,” Zayn muttered. “I’m fucking pissed at you.”

Justin frowned, blowing a thick cloud of smoke across the room and looking confused. “Why?”

“Why do you think?” Zayn countered. Louis could hear the unsaid but clearly intended “You, dumbass?” in Zayn's tone, and if Justin's grimace was any indication, Justin heard it, too.

“About _Selena_?” Justin actually had the audacity to sound incredulous. “I told you I was gonna propose to her, though. That was like the _point_ of us going to the fancy dinner, bro.”

“You told me that when you were drunk.” Louis knew from years of Zayn's own drunken ramblings that Justin said a lot of things when he got some Hennessy in his system, everything ranging from “You're fucking amazing, Zayn” to “Sometimes I wish I had pushed you away that first time.” It might've been Louis' best friend loyalty talking, but Louis felt like it wasn't really on Zayn to decipher which things were true and which weren't. “I thought you were joking.”

“Don’t act like you’re all heartbroken,” Justin said, eyes narrowing. “How many people on this trip have you fucked again?”

Louis' mouth dropped open and he quickly looked down at his hands, unsure whether he should even still be in the room for this argument. Louis was curious – it was his biggest personality flaw, his curiosity and unwillingness to let sleeping dogs lie – but still. “That’s not fair,” Zayn answered, pink blooming across his cheeks. If Zayn started to cry or yell, Louis was already preparing himself to bolt, to go find Eleanor and convince her that they both needed to go out for more margaritas.

“You’re right,” Justin agreed, clenching and unclenching his fist. “It’s _not_. And neither is you getting all brave in front of Louis when we both know _I’m_ not the reason why we’re not together.”

Louis’ eyes leaped between Justin, who in spite of his confrontational tone actually looked quite calm, and Zayn, who was growing redder and redder by the second. “I can go,” Louis volunteered, gesturing in the direction of the door, but Zayn shook his head.

“Nah,” Zayn said, sucking on his teeth. “Stay. Since I can apparently only get brave when I'm standing in front of you.”

“Spare me the theatrics,” Justin hissed. “You're always the fucking victim. I've told you before – I'm not _like_ everyone else, you can't just play me and think I'll go along with it.”

“ _Play_ you? You're the one who treated everything between us like a fucking game.”

“Yo, whose fault was that?” Justin asked, crossing his arms over his chest and looking honestly upset for the first time since he'd come into the hotel room. Louis wasn't sure if he'd ever seen any expressions other than smug satisfaction or mild annoyance on Justin's face, actually. “Forreal, though. If you'd just talk about how you were feeling instead of fucking your aggression out and then acting butthurt all day when people can't read your damn mind. You were the one who said 'no strings attached, just a little bit of fun.' I had _just_ met you. What was I _supposed_ to say? That I don't do that sleeping around shit – that I'm not built for it? You were the cool sophomore – I looked up to you. All those girls around you and I was just there. You knew I was crushing hard, bro.”

“Yeah, but I only said that because that's what I thought you wanted – ”

“So you made an assumption and then got pissed when I started trying to protect myself?” Justin asked, raising an eyebrow and pursing his lips. “You're the one who started seriously dating Perrie. Was I supposed to just wait around for you indefinitely? I satisfied myself with the slivers of you that I got for a while and then I kept it moving. It's _your_ fault you never tried to have this conversation with me until shit was all over and done with.” Justin rolled his eyes, handing the rest of the blunt back over to Louis, and walked over to the door, resting his hand on the doorknob before turning back to look at Zayn. “I know you said you're gonna miss me when you go to New York, but don't fool yourself into thinking you're not just gonna keep sleeping around with whoever will have you while still keeping Perrie as a fucking backup.”

“That's not true, Justin,” Zayn protested.

“Fuck you, Zayn,” Justin answered brightly, and he threw open the door and stomped out, the door slamming shut behind him.

Zayn stared blankly at the door for a few moments before rubbing his hands over his face and throwing himself on the bed next to Louis, who had killed the rest of the roach and was gazing at Zayn, unsure whether Zayn would be receptive to comforting words and soothing touches or not.

“Please don't look at me like that,” Zayn mumbled, burying his head in the crook of Louis' shoulder and wrapping his arm around Louis' middle. It felt so simultaneously wrong and familiar that Louis could feel himself tense up.

“You're doing exactly what he said,” Louis replied, tone stiff. “Like, right now.”

“What?” Zayn asked, playing dumb even as he dug his fingers into Louis' hip. Louis could feel Zayn's satisfied, wolfish grin against his collarbone.

Louis shrugged, going for nonchalance even as his abs continued to jump underneath the pitter-patter of Zayn's fingertips. “How long can we keep doing this without talking about it?”

“Don't wanna talk about it,” Zayn retorted petulantly. Louis didn't particularly want to either, but he wasn't seventeen anymore. He wasn't content with fast-forwarding past all of the confusing emotions in his head just so they could get straight to the bit where Louis had Zayn's cock in his mouth. It wasn't fair anymore – had never really been, to be honest. “Just wanna be with you.”

“No, you don't,” Louis answered, examining his cuticles to keep from looking at Zayn too hard. “You wanna be with Justin – or maybe you just wanna forget about him. I dunno. Either way you're only using me as a way to not think about it.”

Zayn pulled away from Louis, flopping his arms on the bed before lying his head on his knee and looking sheepishly at Louis. “Sorry.”

Louis smiled, kicking himself because he knew it came out wanly. “It's whatever.”

“No, it's really not. And I – I know that.”

“Please stop talking,” Louis answered, trying to go for a joking tone and missing it by a mile. “It's really no big deal.”

“No, it is,” Zayn answered with a deep sigh. “I've been treating you like shit for years and it's – it's really not fair to you. And it's not fair to myself either, to think that I can just do whatever.”

Louis hummed and closed his eyes. “You're thinking too hard.”

“No, I'm not,” Zayn replied, lowering himself back onto the bed and wrapping his arms around Louis' middle again. He blew out a breath of air against Louis' ear and Louis smacked him on the nose for it, smiling when Zayn giggled. “Did you ever have dreams about the person you'd end up marrying?” Zayn asked after several long minutes, long enough that Louis had already started to doze.

“What do you mean?” Louis said, voice already groggy and heavy with the threat of sleep.

“Like, as a kid,” Zayn clarified. “Have dreams about your future, and the person you marry and all that.”

“No,” Louis replied, opening his eyes to look at Zayn. It was really a fucking strange question, he couldn't help it that he was honestly baffled. “Did you?”

“Yeah,” Zayn admitted, burying his face against Louis' collarbone again so that his words came out muffled. “That's why at first I used to think maybe – but then also Justin. Why I thought I would marry Justin. Like, once gay marriage becomes legal, obviously – ”

Louis shook his head and tapped against Zayn's ribs to get him to stop talking. “Hold up, hold up. So you used to have dreams about getting married to a boy?”

“He had brown hair,” Zayn answered. “And light colored eyes.”

“That only half describes Justin,” Louis replied slowly. They seemed to mutually not touch the obvious fact that it described Louis, too.

“I think he was younger than me,” Zayn mumbled. “Like, sometimes in my dreams I would be teasing him for acting like a kid.”

“Were you trying to force a relationship with Justin because he kind of reminded you of someone you had dreams about?” Louis asked incredulously. Because that was fucking stupid.

“ _No_ ,” Zayn huffed. “But I dunno. I thought – ugh. Never mind.”

“Hey, hey, don't do that,” Louis replied, rubbing his hand up Zayn's back. “Just – you wanna tell me more about your dreams?”

Zayn shook his head. “No.”

“ _C'mon_ , Zee.” Louis wheedled. “You know you wanna tell me.”

“There's not much else to say,” Zayn retorted before he relaxed against Louis again. “Dunno. I had a lot of really vivid dreams and sometimes they would come true. And every so often I had dreams about my husband and he had brown hair and light colored eyes and he was just kind of always there? Inseparable, like.”

“What was his personality like?”

Zayn screwed his face up in thought before running his fingers through his hair and shrugging. “Hard to tell in dreams, I guess. But like in general, in relationships or whatever, I think I want someone who will check in with me all of the time – not assume, you know? Test me, ask me questions. Push me to show that I care, that they care, too.”

“I don't even know what that means, Zayn,” Louis admitted, although the gist of it did sound rather exhausting.

Zayn laughed a little self-deprecatingly. “I'm not sure I do, either. But I just – I dunno. It seems like everyone is just kind of content to let me do whatever without asking me questions and sometimes I don't even know why I'm doing what I'm doing. I think I just want someone to push me to rationalize stuff. I dunno.” Zayn took a really deep breath before continuing. “I'm really fucking high.”

Louis snorted and Zayn did too until they were both snickering and laughing against each other's necks, curled around each other, warm, slick skin-to-skin.

“I do love you, Louis,” Zayn whispered as their laughs faded away and Louis could feel his eyelids getting heavy again.

“I love you too, Zee,” Louis yawned.

“I'm gonna miss you when you're in Seattle.”

“I'll be back in California after a year,” Louis mumbled. “You're the one who's probably gonna stay in the Big Apple.”

“Doubt it.”

“With a face like yours? You'll end up with a modeling contract within a month.”

Zayn shook his head fondly before pressing his lips against Louis' cheek. “Wanna cuddle and nap, yeah?”

“Get up and turn off the light?” Louis asked, yawning again. Zayn nodded, standing up and flicking off the lights before shucking his pants. Louis was already asleep by the time Zayn crawled back into bed.

 

“Aww, what a cute story!”

Louis didn't need to jerk his head to know that Harry was standing behind him, leaning against the door-frame in the kitchen and looking like a smug little shit.

“How long was he standing there?” Louis asked instead, directing his question to Niall, who shrugged apologetically.

“Practically the whole story,” Niall admitted.

“Surprising he managed to be quiet for so long,” Louis replied, taking great joy in Liam's snort of laughter. Harry ignored it, walking over and sitting cross-legged on the grass next to Louis, smiling wide and open. “What?” Louis asked warily.

“Do you any have more fun stories about Zayn dreaming about me before we even met?” Harry asked, twisting blades of grass together and grinning slyly at Louis.

“Who said those dreams were about you?” Liam scoffed.

“Louis, otherwise he wouldn't have brought the story up,” Harry answered with an eye-roll.

“Weren't you like five when he was having those dreams?” Niall asked.

“He's only eight years older than me,” Harry replied, squinting up at Niall. “What the hell?”

Niall shrugged. “It was just a question.”

Harry turned back to Louis, almost vibrating in excitement. “Do you have any other stories, though?”

“Not really,” Louis answered.

“But that's definitely about me, right?” Harry said. “That description – it's totally me. Brown hair with light colored eyes – ”

“And fucking intense and obsessive, never leaves his side – certainly sounds like you,” Louis retorted.

“You don't have to _always_ act like a jealous ex, you know,” Harry answered completely matter-of-fact, and it was probably only Zayn's appearance in the backyard, looking relaxed and clearly just fucked, that kept Louis from punching Harry in the face.

Zayn walked over to Harry, who pulled Zayn down to sit in his lap. Harry ran his nose across Zayn's neck and whispered something in Zayn's ear which had Liam, who was sitting closest to Harry, turn beet red and look away.

“What were you all looking so excited about?” Zayn asked, linking his fingers with Harry's and smiling around at everyone else.

“Louis was telling us how you used to have fortune teller dreams about sucking Harry's dick,” Niall answered. Harry frowned petulantly while Liam choked on another laugh and Louis hid his smile behind his hands.

“No, that's not it, babe,” Harry sighed. “Louis was saying you and him had a conversation about how you used to have dreams about who you would end up married to, and how the description was totally about me.”

Zayn turned to Louis with wide, hazel eyes. “What the fuck? I _told_ you about those?”

“Yeah, when we were in Mexico,” Louis said with a small frown. “Did you forget?”

“I don't really remember most of that vacation,” Zayn admitted with a shrug. “I was high or drunk for most of it. I kinda forgot about those dreams, too, to be honest. Stopped having them after a while.”

“Is that why you never told me about them?” Harry demanded. “How come you never talked to me about that? Or about that trip? Why is this the first time I'm hearing about all of this?”

“Did you not hear what I just said?” Zayn asked, voice going high with bewilderment. “I don't remember that trip. I forgot about those dreams. If I thought it was something important that you needed to know to fundamentally understand me or whatever, I would've told you.”

“How are things like that not fucking important?” Harry continued. “How do you just forget about important things all the damn time?”

“Oh, here we go,” Niall muttered as Zayn answered, “Because it _wasn't_ important!”

“Your definition of important would include nothing about your life!” Harry yelled as Zayn pushed himself away from Harry to stare at him in disbelief. Louis stood and dusted himself off, nodding at Eleanor who was already making her way across the backyard with a tiny smile on her face.

“We're gonna be going,” Louis said lazily, running his hands over Eleanor's arms as Harry and Zayn continued their strange disagreement over nothing. “If you need us to help with more unpacking stuff, just let us know and we'll get a sitter again.”

Louis was pretty sure that neither Harry nor Zayn heard him, too wrapped up in their weird mating ritual, but their eyes were both twinkling with mirth even as they yelled at each other, so Louis wasn't too worried. The two of them still argued all of the time, but it wasn't laced with cruelty the way it used to be – more bickering for the sake of bickering. A fun pastime, not a way to cut each other down. Louis shrugged and waved, walking through the house to head back home.

“I heard you, Liam and Niall talking about that stupid bet,” Eleanor said once they got into their own car, pulling seat belts on and heading toward the freeway. “I still contend they're in it for the long haul. Just wait and see.”

“I know,” Louis answered, poking Eleanor once in the thigh before turning back to look at the road. Louis would never admit it out loud, but very, very deep, deep down, Louis agreed with her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of an open secret at this point, but I've already got some of the third fic in this series written. However, I'm not going to post it for another few months. I need a break from this universe (Harry's POV for this one was really draining), and I think [Chase the Devil](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1905615/chapters/4109796) will be a good distraction for the time being.
> 
> Thanks again for reading! I really do appreciate it, more than I can even put into words. 
> 
> [Tumblr](http://catholicschoolgirl.tumblr.com/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/xtracalidopechk)


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